by Mike Truk
Beauhammer drew himself up to his full height and turned to glare at me. It was like staring up at a thunder cloud. “You are being incredibly unwise, Kellik. I gave you your license out of the goodness of my heart. But make no mistake. I can cancel that license at any moment. If you insist on dragging my daughter to her death, I will cancel your license immediately and bar you from the delve.”
I didn’t back up. “And show yourself to be a capricious old fool? Canceling contracts on a whim would do more damage to your contest than anything else I can imagine.”
“She’s my daughter,” he growled. “I don’t care.”
“According to our contract,” said Pogo, stepping forward with finger raised, “the listed clauses stipulating possible causes for losing our licenses do not include the addition of a magistrate’s family member, and thus your objection would not stand up in a court of law -”
“What is this goblin filth doing here?” Beauhammer’s rasp was heavy and raw with fury. “Why isn’t he out working in the swamps with the rest of his ilk? Goblin, I am the magistrate, and I interpret Port Lusander law as I see fit. Elsa. Leave, now, or I’ll have Kellik’s team evicted from Port Lusander and you placed under house arrest.”
That’s when I saw Iris begin to move forward, and time seemed to slow as all the implications of what was about to happen dawned on me. The last time Beauhammer had seen Iris was when he’d sold her to Elias. If he saw her now - by the Hanged God’s raging cock, everything was about to go to shit.
“Magistrate,” I said, and I felt my voice swell with power, “your daughter is the future of your house. You seek to protect her, to shield her from harm, but this is Port Lusander, and its leaders must be brave and bold like yourself. Did you run from danger when you were young? Did the brave captain of The Hammer spend his hours hiding in a castle? No. You set the example. You dared the world. You fought it on its own terms, and asked for no quarter. How can you expect your daughter to do otherwise? Look at her. How brave and strong she is. Who does she remind you of? That defiance? You see yourself in her eyes. You see your own strength. You won’t deny her. You won’t clip her wings. You’ll let her prove herself, let her win her own victories just like you did, so that when the day comes you’ll know you are passing on your wealth and power and estate to someone more than capable of taking on your mantle: your daughter, a warrior born, just like yourself.”
Nobody moved. Beauhammer was staring at me with glazed eyes. I felt light-headed, giddy almost, filled with an effervescent energy that made me want to dance. But instead, I held the magistrate’s heavy gaze until he nodded, blinking as he did so.
“You speak wisely, Kellik. Yes. Elsa does remind me of myself. And… I shouldn’t deprive her of her own victories. The chance… the chance to prove herself to the world. It will make her a more fitting heiress. A more… a more desirable wedding partner. Yes, I like that. Very much so!”
With a final blink he came back to himself, and grinned jovially once more, clapping me on the shoulder as he turned to regard the stunned Elsa. “Don’t hog all the glory down there, my girl, you hear? Leave a little for the others. And when you emerge, it had better be carrying the largest bag of loot the world has ever seen! I can’t wait to celebrate your victories and hear your tales. Do the Beauhammers proud!”
And stepping forward, he hugged her tightly, clapped me on the shoulder once more, then turned away to return to the podium.
“What…?” Elsa looked stupefied. “What just happened?”
“Kellik just happened,” said Cerys sourly.
“Damn right,” I said. The sensation of power, of mastery, of control, was slowly leaking away. I forced myself to stand still, to let it go. To not hold on, or direct it at anyone else.
“It’s getting stronger,” said Netherys, voice low.
“What is?” asked Elsa. “What did you do? Are you some kind of magic user?”
“Something like that,” I said, flashing her a roguish grin. “One you’re fortunate enough to be associated with. Welcome to the team.”
She stood up a bit straighter, tapped the hilt of her blade as if checking it was still there, then nodded. “Thank you.”
“Ladies and gentlemen! The time has come! The Hanged God himself ceases his eternal dance to turn and watch what shall happen next!” Beauhammer suddenly stopped and glanced at Baleric, clearly wondering if he’d gone too far. The exemplar remained expressionless, though perhaps, just perhaps, his left eyebrow rose but a fraction. “Ahem. We shall now draw the lots to determine the order of entry! Will the leader of each team please approach the stage!”
Kellik blew out his cheeks. “Here goes. Wish me luck. You think we want first or last?”
“Last,” said Elsa.
“Agreed,” said Cerys.
“Good to know.” I walked across the stone ground, glancing as the other leaders made their way to Beauhammer. We gathered before the podium, where Beauhammer stared down at us with as much gravity as he could muster.
“There is no need for flim flammery here! We shall do this simply, elegantly, in a time-honored manner. Five sticks! The shortest goes first, the longest last. The order for picking a stick will follow that of acquiring your license. Begin!”
A servant stepped forward, five slender sticks of equal length jutting out over the edge of his glove. He moved to the elf. She didn’t hesitate, but reached out and plucked what proved to be a stick of moderate length. No guessing how long or short until we’d seen something to compare it to.
The next was the knight, a florid man with an almost absurd mustache. He removed his gauntlet and took the next stick, which he turned, holding it up for all to see. It was shorter by far than the elf’s.
“Glory goes to the bold,” he said, trying his best to not openly smirk.
Lady Haverwort’s stick was just a little longer than the elf’s, and Baleric’s was just a little shorter.
One stick remained. I reached out and drew it. The longest yet. Turning, I caught the eyes of my companions and gave them a wink.
“The gods have spoken! First to assay the ruins shall be Ser Guignon, then Exemplar Baleric, followed by Princess Andadriel, Lady Haverwort, and finally Master Kellik’s team. Ser Guignon! Are you ready? You shall have a ten-minute start before you are followed.”
Ten minutes. That meant another hour almost for us out on this porch. My shoulders sagged in dismay.
“I was born ready!” cried the Ellosaint knight, his accented voice loud and brassy. Moving to rejoin his three companions, he drew his blade which rang loudly as he did so, its edges glowing a shimmering, unnatural blue. “We dedicate our adventure to Queen Anaely, and pray to the White Sun that we may be worthy of her benedictions. For courage, love, and honor!”
The other three knights drew their blades, each ensorcelled in some different manner, and then squared their shoulders and marched toward the gate.
The crowd, swept up by their passion and vigor, let out the first real cheer of the morn, and the knights raised their blades and turned in a few circles as they went, till at last they reached the cliff.
Beauhammer’s voice boomed over the cheers. “Open the gate!”
A large guard slid a key into a lock at his shoulder height, then with four others pulled open both gates to reveal the dark passage beyond. It was easily five yards high and quickly receded into obscurity.
“For Ellosaint!” roared Sir Guignon, and then he led his companions into the dark, their blades lighting up in different golden, blue, and silvery hues, so that for a long while we could follow their progress deeper into the hill, until suddenly, without warning, all went dark, as if a curtain had been dropped between us.
For some reason their sudden disappearance gave me a chill. I frowned and turned to my companions. “Well, we’ve about an hour. Anybody bring a pack of cards?”
Being forced to stand in full view of the crowd meant not really being able to do much of anything other than just stand there. I was
just about resigning myself to sore feet when a murmur started up in the crowd, and I looked around and nearly had a heart attack as I saw Baleric coming my way.
There was a presence to the man that was just plain otherworldly. As if he didn’t belong here amongst us mortals, but had somehow slipped free of the Ashen Garden and brought its dark miasma with him. Even though he wasn’t the largest or tallest person here, he somehow stood proudly eminent, his features striking and speaking to passions whose depths and power I could never understand, marked by deep scars entrenched upon his face as if by thunder. There was pride there, dauntless courage, obdurate indifference, and in his eye cruelty mixed with remorse and even compassion. Such a face as I didn’t doubt an artist could spend years studying and painting, and never capture its maturity and strength.
And the fucker was walking right up to me.
The audience grew silent. The elves and barrow-sorcereress turned to regard us. His own crew watched from afar.
Right up to me, his steps measured, his gaze as weighty to bear as a mantle of lead. He stopped before me, and a cold wind arose to pluck at the fur of his wolfskin and stir his long white hair.
“Lady Elsa,” he said in greeting, yet not looking at her.
“Exemplar,” she said, bowing low.
“Master Kellik.” There was such casual authority in his voice that it made Beauhammer sound like a blaring buffoon. “I hear you are from Port Gloom.”
“Exemplar,” I said, deciding to skip the bow. “You heard correctly.”
“And that you are but newly arrived in Port Lusander. Did you come here directly from our home?”
“Why?” It took real will to not simply confirm what he asked. “Why do you want to know?”
I was getting tunnel vision just holding his gaze. His eyes were like pitons, pressing into me, inexorable. Unrelenting. Seeing, I feared, far too much.
“Curiosity. There is something about you. You are no exemplar. Nor yet a mage. But you are no mere mortal, either. What are you, Kellik, that you should so draw my eye?”
Well, that was getting right to the point. I raised my chin but a fraction, swallowed, and quirked a smile. “I’ve been told I’m pretty cute.”
Nobody spoke. Nobody seemed to even breathe. My words hung in the air between us, and for a long, ragged, aching second, I’d have given my left arm to pull them back and have said anything else.
Then Baleric smiled, and I felt my knees go weak with relief. “Cute.” He pronounced the word as if it were an artifact he’d picked up from some museum’s shelf. “My sister, Nemedia, says you are haunted by unborn souls. They scream at you, hate you, and say that because of you they shall never enter the world of man. Untold thousands, she says. A vortex of the unliving that stretches from here to the heavens.”
“I, ah…” My throat was painfully dry. My thoughts like balls of clay being rolled around in a cheap bowl. “Um. She should…” By the gods his gaze bored into me with such intensity I couldn’t even get my words together. “Maybe she should get more sleep. Or eat a steak, go for a walk. You know. Take a break. She sounds like she needs one.”
“Cute,” said Baleric once more. “Yes.” Then at last he turned his gaze to someone else, and it was like having a cloud pass before the sun. “Be careful, Lady Elsa. There is more to this one than you know.”
And with that he turned and walked back to his group, footsteps ringing out across the porch.
I was sweating, I realized, despite the morning chill.
“’Be careful, Elsa?’” asked Cerys, voice low. “What was that about?”
Elsa also looked taken aback. “I - I don’t know. Maybe because we spoke last night at the party?” She ran her hands down the front of her armor, collecting herself, and gave a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t know.”
“Is that what Neko would have turned out like?” I asked, not speaking to anyone in particular. Baleric was speaking with his sister, back to me, and I was glad of it.
“Who can say?” said Pogo. “Useless to speculate. Neko, at least, had a rough charm, despite being human. This Baleric is as charming as an obsidian blade being slowly thrust into your bowels.”
Netherys snorted. “That happen to you much, Master Pogmillion?”
“Only the one time,” said Pogo, “and that was quite sufficient, thank you.”
Baleric finished his exchange and turned, crossing his arms over his breastplate, to regard me from across the porch.
I quickly looked away.
The ten minutes couldn’t pass quickly enough. In short order Baleric and his team were called, and without shouts or salutes they walked forward and were devoured by the darkness, the sister, Nemedia, raising her hand at the very last moment so that it incandesced with a nacreous light. They marched into the darkness, the city troll bringing up the rear, and in short order were devoured by the dark.
Time then seemed to stretch out. The wait became interminable. Finally, the elves were summoned. They moved with all the fluid grace of water being poured from a jug into a crystal goblet, a couple of them raising bronze rods which glowed magically as they entered the tunnel. The barrow-sorceress went next, still casting puzzled looks at Iris, preceded by her golems, her crypt apostles behind, and then, after what felt like hours, Beauhammer’s voice rang forth:
“Master Kellik! The time has come! Enter the gate, and may Blind Fortuna bless you as she has never done before!”
I took a deep breath. Squared my shoulders. Drew my blade, and heard Netherys and Elsa do the same. Cerys unshouldered her bow, strung it, and placed an arrow against the string. Pony stood up with a groan, Tamara safely resting in the crook of his elbow. He tapped the head of his hammer three times against the ground as if shaking it free of dust, then grunted. Ready.
Iris moved forward, her father, mother, and grandparents a silent entourage behind her, and then turned to give me an innocent smile. “This is exciting.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Exciting. That’s the word for it.” I took one last glance around at the audience. Hundreds were watching us with morbid curiosity. Beauhammer was leaning over his podium, eyebrow raised.
A fist clenched in my gut. The nape of my neck prickled. I took a deep breath, then walked toward the gate.
Chapter 17
I’ll admit, entering the king troll ruins at long last was kind of nerve-wracking. Pausing only long enough to light my lantern, I walked forward, expecting horrors to manifest at each step. Sure, I’d seen the previous four teams make it much farther down the hallway before disappearing, but even so, my gaze darted about and I had to control myself so as to not leap at every noise.
“Relax,” said Elsa, moving up alongside me. “This is the fourth year this competition’s being going on, remember? The upper levels have been all cleared out. Everyone’s heading down as quickly as they can, into the depths where the remaining gold and treasures are still located. Nothing up here but dust and the skeletons of those who died exploring it years ago.”
“Right, right,” I said, taking a calming breath. “Still, no harm in being careful. I’m getting tired of making mistakes due to hubris.”
“Finally,” said Cerys, “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear those words.”
“I’m pleased to report that nothing is attacking us from the rear,” called out Pogo from behind Pony, “and shall provide constant updates to that effect so that you need not concern yourself about that aspect of our expedition.”
“Great, Pogo,” I said, moving forward cautiously, lantern still raised, watching the receding darkness as it gave up more and more of the hallway unto my light. “Though you could also just alert us if something goes wrong instead?”
“True,” said Pogo, “but my continued silence could be a false positive, in that if I were abducted or killed by an assassin, you would still assume all was well, when in truth, it would be anything but. Thus constant, clear communication seems preferable. I will admit, however, at being a novi
ce at this sort of activity; I have spent the vast majority of time -”
“Pogo?” Cerys’ voice was the perfect blend of calm and yet subtle impatience.
“Yes. Ahem. Apologies,” said Pogo. “I may be a little nervous. I tend to chatter when uneasy, as if one could, by distracting one’s mind with constant palaver, also ease the fundamental causes for that very unease -”
“Pogo?” This time it was Netherys, voice like black velour.
“Yes.” I heard the goblin cough into his fist. “Understood.”
I glanced back. Where the gate should have been, all brilliantly lit by morning sunshine, was now just dark shadow. “Looks like we’ve passed the point of visibility from outside. If we turned around and went back, would the gate appear?”
“Others have returned in the past,” said Elsa. “Thus I would wager it would.”
I tapped the flat of my blade against my palm then nodded. “Onwards, then. How far down is the White Sun level?”
“Four, I believe. It should only take us about twenty or so minutes to reach it once we find the right stairwell.”
There wasn’t much more to be said. The clomp of Pony’s heavy feet was a reassuring basso rhythm to our progress, and just knowing I had a war troll at my back made me feel ever so slightly more confident.
Iris’ voice broke the stillness. “The barrow-sorceress awaits us up ahead.”
I slowed, peering into the darkness. “You can sense her?”
“Her creations, yes. They’re slightly spread out. I would guess in a chamber.”
The hallway curved to the right, and a pale white radiance filled its end where it led into a room through an archway. Iris was right: Lady Haverwort stood in the chamber’s center, flanked by her barrow golems, her crypt apostles arrayed before her.
I entered the room hesitantly, lowering my lantern as I did so. “Lady Haverwort. Stopped for a breather?”
Her eyes glittered like chips of ice in the light that radiated from the tip of her staff. “Step aside, boy. I would speak with your necromancer.”