The Shadows of Starpoint Mountain

by Bill Albert

  The Third Minister closed the door and smiled. He pulled open one of the wall curtains to reveal a specially made lock box big enough to hold a human male. He retrieved the key from a hidden compartment on the back of his desk chair and soon the box was opened. He took the completed Royal Proclamations and laid them out on his desk. With grand strokes he signed ‘King Paleth’ to each of them with an oversized quill.

  He was about to return them to the box when he caught a shimmer beside the box and another of his agents appeared. The agent stepped away from the jump cast and took a seat near the desk.

  “I was about ready to give up on you,” the Third Minister said.

  “One of us is dead,” the agent said. “It took some time for the rest of us to recover.”

  The Third Minister didn’t even try to hide his surprise that there could be a bad effect to the special casting. He had never trusted jump casting, and this was another reason to avoid doing it.

  “Don’t worry,” the agent said. “The two of us will be enough.”

  “Where is the second?”

  “In the swamps trying to make a deal with the Others.”

  “Do you really think there is any chance of a success?”

  “Of course, or I wouldn’t be there. It is what you need in your ultimate game. What happened to your other agents in the Burial Grounds?”

  The Third Minister sat in his chair and took a long slow breath before answering. “I think Acrufix came out of the Burial Grounds okay. He has the girl captive.”

  The agent shifted uncomfortably at her mention. He had hoping he would get the pleasure of destroying her himself. Finally, he asked, “Where is Marassa?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Oh, you are having problems, aren’t you?”

  “A minor setback. I can replace Acrufix quickly if need be, they are strings quite easy to pull, and Marassa was limited in her usefulness. Before you start to hold yourself in high esteem remember that I can replace the two of you as well.”

  “Of course,” the agent nodded and smiled.

  ***

  Gallif and Lincilara both stood with eyes wide as Mekon stepped out of the shadows.

  “Yes, Gallif, I left you the cast key,” Mekon said.

  “Thank you,” she said confused.

  “You’ve made some new friends,” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, this is Lincilara, my friend.”

  “Of course, welcome Lincilara,” the giant said.

  “Hi,” was the best she could come up with. She stayed near Gallif’s shoulder and was bending over backwards to look up at his face.

  “I won’t ask how you found her,” Mekon said to Gallif. “I imagine that you have difficulty trusting giants these days. Possibly even myself. I also imagine you spoke with the dragon.”

  “Yes, we spoke inside Starpoint Mountain.”

  “I am quite envious of you. It must have been breathtaking.”

  “He told us how the mountain came to be,” she said, and he encouraged her to continue. “The dragons, the red dragons, were losing and needed a place to hide so they used the mountain. His castings had been keeping it standing for so long.”

  “It was a considerable duty for him to keep for a thousand years.”

  “He was a criminal entrapped there by the blue dragons after the war.”

  “Oh, my,” Mekon gasped. “How did he survive?”

  “A cursed bracelet that prevented him from dying but did not prevent him from aging.”

  “The curse of immortality. And you released him? Despite what it would do to the mountain.”

  “Yes,” she admitted looking away from him for the first time.”

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “The elves,” she said taking a deep breath and looking back up at him. “Their hatred is driven by a curse, one of his own, that took away their ability to choose.”

  Mekon looked at her in shock and shook his head. He said a quick prayer and sat down on the floor so he could look at them almost evenly.

  “There’s no way you could have misunderstood him?”

  “Hey,” Lincilara protested and fluttered up closer to him. “Just cause you’re bigger that doesn’t mean you can be rude to her,” she growled pointing her tiny fist at him.

  “Lincilara, come back here,” Gallif pleaded with her.

  Lincilara fluttered back to Gallif but still stood tall with her hands on her hips. “I remember what they were like before they became Lords,” she whispered.

  “The elves are cursed,” he said aloud to make sure he understood it. “All these years we’ve hated them and hunted them for being evil. All these centuries… I suppose it could have started easily enough,” he said staring at nothing. “Being unable to choose, or know the difference, could be very seductive. Philosophers have been arguing forever which side is easier.”

  “And others followed,” Gallif speculated.

  “Or were forced that way. Some of them became evil and others followed, yes,” he said, his mind racing at the thought. “Those that could tell the difference eventually believed that they were all evil and treated them that way. If they were just defending themselves it could be mistaken as hostility.”

  “They didn’t know,” she said.

  “But the rest, those that weren’t elves, did. No one has ever questioned their nature before,” he said as he rose. “That dragon was not the only one guilty of this injustice. He cast the curse, but we kept it alive.”

  Gallif’s own guilt about some of the events in the past few months were considerable. This idea lightened her but did not relieve it.

  “Year after year, decade after decade, we kept it going by automatically treating them as evil,” he said and looked into the distance. “That would be just as wrong as assuming all giants are good,” he said, and his eyes locked on her.

  “I’ve learned that both of those beliefs are wrong,” she said looking straight back at him.

  “You, and your friends, are doing something?”

  “Yes,” was all she could say.

  “It’s going to be harder than you could possible imagine. Even if the Giant lords weren’t turning things against you it would be nearly impossible.”

  “Against?”

  “Yes, you, and anyone associated with you, are going to be declared Fugitive Kind.”

  Lincilara was unsure of what that meant but she could tell by the way Gallif’s hand went to her mouth that it was dangerous.

  “Are you going to turn me in?” Gallif asked in horror.

  Lincilara grit her teeth and put her hands on her hips as she looked menacingly at the giant. “No,” she whispered to her best friend.

  “Now you are assuming all giants are bad,” he said flatly. “No, I’m not going to turn you in. You fought to protect me in the north and I know what is inside your heart. I will help you. I can’t do it openly, but I will help you. Go north, as soon as you can. I’d bet you could find a place to stay up there. The lack of interest the people in Primor have in anything the Giant Lords do has always been a thorn. Even with Jakobus on your side I’m not sure the dwarves in the Under City will help you. Their loyalty to us is total.”

  “We can’t go north, we have to-”

  “Quiet! Don’t say anything else,” he interrupted her. “You’re going to be hunted and it’ll be bad enough as it is. The fact that you will be named Fugitive Kind will mean that they’re all going to be looking for you. You will be on the militia’s most wanted list and they are very, very good. Move as fast and as quietly as you can. To make matters worse when they find out you were held captive and escaped they’ll put rewards on your heads whether you stay alive or not. They’ll send everything after you.”

  “More than the militia?”

  “More than you know, dear Gallif. We have special contacts in every city from Keometric to Hedle City to the library in Benzon to Outbound.”

  She managed to hide her fear when he mentioned Outbound, it was
where they must go, and she pleaded with him to continue.

  “They’re going to put their best agents on you.”

  “Thank you,” she said slowly.

  “Don’t thank me. I’ve been dedicated to serving and protecting the Giant Lords all of my life,” he said sadly. “Despite what you told me I cannot possibly rebel against them. There’s a very good chance that one of the agents they send after you will be me,” he said and let silence fill the hallway. “Lincilara can show you where Jakobus and the rest are. Your equipment is in storage nearby.” He walked back to the intersection and then continued without looking back at her. “I’m sorry, Gallif, but if we meet again, I will have to kill you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE: FUGITIVE KIND

  Krove left his Minister’s robes in the safety of his inner sanctum and started the dark and damp walk towards the chamber. There was no sound outside of the rhythmic beat of his steps. The thing he enjoyed the most about the walk to the chamber was that it gave him time to plan.

  The Second Minister and the Sixth Minister were up to something. He knew that they had formed an alliance some time ago but hadn’t known, until recently, just how tight it was. They were plotting against him, but he had no idea what their next moves were. The state of not knowing what his fellow ministers were up to was unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, but he hoped to change that soon.

  He and the Fourth Minister had formed their own successful alliance. He felt confident that he had tugged enough of the Fifth Minister’s strings to get his support. He was concerned with healing the country and the Third Minister’s request to aid him had been a great ploy to gain his trust. He chuckled in pride and kept walking.

  The Seventh Minister and the Eighth Minister he knew would support him when necessary. The secrets he had of their past would guarantee that.

  The Ninth Minister, now, there was someone who had to be dealt with. The Ninth Minister kept himself apart from the rest and his loyalties to the Circle of Ministers had been kept in shadow. Krove would have to keep his options open in this case.

  The annoying little girl was no longer a problem for him, he was proud to realize. The declarations were ready to be distributed and then her popularity would end. He had already begun drafting the follow up that would state she had been captured and, after a fair and balanced trial, confessed her guilt and was executed. Paleth, the simpleton, would enjoy that one.

  He knew he was closer to the chamber when he heard the chanting. He rolled his eyes in disgust at the ear grating sound. He had always found it bothersome that either the elves couldn’t speak a single word or couldn’t shut up. He had decided that neither version was more intelligent than the other and it would be best to quiet them permanently. He had to walk along the row of cells to get to his destination and was forced to listen to the drone.

  We must forgive the blind

  Who know no good or bad

  Whose choices lost by evil curse

  Whose lives doth thrive in chaos

  And the blind whose choices make

  In honesty or sin

  For their own good or in others

  Are blind as like the wind

  Can they be blamed for lives of terror

  Either to or from their souls

  When those who made the final cast

  Have long gone with their kind

  If you forgive your mortal self

  We must forgive the blind.

  As he entered the chamber the chant started over and, despite its annoyance, he was glad to see that everything was as he had left it. On the far wall dozens of cutters were mounted in order of length above several closed cabinets. To his left, along a shorter wall, were various straps, cuffs and collars made of leather, metal or both. To the right were various larger hammers and saws and the fourth wall had enough racks for a half dozen subjects.

  “You’re awake already,” the Third Minister said as he approached the table the subject was strapped to.

  “Yes, my lord,” the subject said with her voice shaking.

  “Tell me what the second Minister has planned.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, my lord,” the girl subject rattled.

  “He’s conspiring against me, therefore against the king, therefore against the Giant Lords. What is he planning? Or would you rather commit treason against everything that you believe in?”

  “No, Third Minister, I have worshiped the Giant Lords all my life. I am but a lowly servant who cleans the Second Minister’s clothes.”

  “NO!” he barked at her.

  “I know of no such plots or conspiracies,” the subject pleaded with him.

  “You spend all day in the household, and you expect me to believe you’ve heard nothing.”

  “Please, Third Minister, I beg you! I rarely see the Second Minister and always dealt with his middle staff.”

  He pounded a fist against the table near her head. She shivered and tried to pull away, but the straps were too tight. “Tell me what you know,” he demanded, his face only inches from her.

  “I know nothing, you must believe me.”

  The giant started to turn away but as he did he bumped against the leather strap that hung from the ceiling above the subject’s head. He thought about it briefly then pulled the same acid flask he’d used on Gallif from under his robes. He looped the strap around the flask and then released it and watched it until it stopped swinging directly above her face.

  “Has he ever spoken of the Sixth Minister?”

  “Only briefly,” the subject said trembling.

  Pleased, Krove gave her a wicked smile and encouraged her to continue.

  “He spoke briefly of them meeting on one of the platforms,” she blurted out hopefully. “He said that he was late because they met on one of the platforms and it was the safest public place to meet in Spring Field without being overheard.”

  Krove nodded in understanding and asked, “What did they talk about there?”

  The subjects eyes widened in fear as tears streamed down her face. “I don’t know, Third Minister, I only know it was the reason he gave for being home so late.”

  Krove’s shoulders dropped as he realized he had been wasting his time. The subject was telling the truth and could not tell him anything useful. “It’s a pity I wasted so much time on you. If you hobgoblins have a god, they might forgive you for it.”

  He quickly reached under the table and retrieved two wooden paddles. He stepped back, held a paddle in each hand, then slapped them together shattering the acid flask. The contents rained onto the subject’s face and her scream was silenced by the acid gurgling in her throat.

  He left the chamber with paddles in hand and immediately heard the elf chanting. In a rage he jabbed the acid covered ends of the paddles at the prisoner. It howled in pain and retreated to the back of the cell. He was relieved that it had stopped chanting.

  “That should shut you up for a while. Next time I’ll cut off your pointed ears, too,” he said looking at the necklace he left hanging near the door so everyone could see it. It was a thin but very strong leather strap pierced through dozens of pointed ears.

  Krove spent most of the walk back to the office thinking of his options. The little human girl was dealt with, and he would make doubly sure the inhabitants of the Land of Starpoint would celebrate her death.

  It was turning out to be a good day after all.

  ***

  Gallif was continuously being reminded of how the best weapon in her arsenal was the smallest. Lincilara’s nose had led her to the cell her friends were being kept in but even her nose wasn’t powerful enough to get the guards away.

  It was difficult to defend herself against a long sword using only the wooden leg of a broken stool. She couldn’t get close enough to strike the guard but being younger, and thinner, could out step his slow attacks. She had prevented him from going for help but was worried that someone else may pass by on patrol.

  She ducked as the blade passed by her yet knew i
t would return soon. He had used that tactic before, but it would only work once.

  He looked around for something else to use. The first guard, who had seen her coming had been removed with a swift kick in the face and had fallen onto his own long sword. The unfortunate result was it would take too long for her to move him and get his weapon.

  Lincilara flew a circle around the guard’s face but he didn’t even blink at her. Gallif had to admit she was impressed by his powers of concentration but wished he was centered on something other than her.

  The guard changed tactics and started to zigzag his strikes. Gallif managed to sidestep the first two, but the third hit her below the left knee. Lincilara, furious, dove into his face and managed to distract him enough for Gallif to stumble back.

  Gallif knew they were evenly matched and had to find a way to change the balance. The guard made two large arc swings and, as the second one passed, Gallif rushed forward. The move surprised the guard and her body slammed into his. She had one hand on his sword trying to twist it from his grasp and the other arm was wrapped around his shoulder so if he moved away she went with him.

  Instead of going back the guard came forward and used his greater weight to push her against the wall. She coughed on impact and lost her grip on his sword. Confidently the guard stepped back to make a final blow, but Gallif’s reflexes were faster. She punched hard with her right hand and the wooden stool slapped over the guard’s forehead. He stumbled backwards and dropped the sword.

  As Gallif dived to retrieve it Lincilara fluttered in and forcefully punched the guard in the nose. The guard’s eyesight drifted, and he finally lost his balance landing flat on his back.

  Gallif picked up the sword and yanked the keys from his belt. Once she was sure he would not rise back up she ran to the cell door to release her friends.

  Lincilara hovered just a few inches above his face and glared into his glazed eyes. “Dumb ass,” she said and joined Gallif.

  Jakobus, Blinks and Luvin were bound to metal rings on the walls with thick ropes but were quickly released thanks to the long sword. Jakobus and Blinks dragged the two unconscious guards inside.