Tremors of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  “Oh, they will become addicted. Of that you can be sure.”

  “Very well. Then if I begin distribution on the scale you are suggesting, it won’t be a secret long. If our illustrious king does not approve–”

  “He approves, Vincent. Here.”

  Barris read the document that Vincent held in his hand without difficulty; the writing was clear, the signature bold, the seal official.

  “Alright then. Seems to be in order. But let me ask you directly, Sartean, and don’t mince words with me. What is this potion going to do to the people who take it?”

  Sartean frowned. “I did not think you would concern yourself overmuch with that.”

  “I didn’t at first. But if people start dying, will King Halsen revoke his authority?”

  “I was very clear when I spoke to Halsen about the side effects. He was not concerned.”

  “And those side effects are?”

  Sartean sat back. “Very well. Some will fall victim to their own inability to manage their addiction. Some will take too much. Some may have adverse reactions. Some will die. Why does this matter?”

  A short-lived moment of silence overtook the hall as the men and women of Mor experienced the implantation of the memory, as Barris had. Barris stood, knees bent, watching the Defenders watch the crowd. King Halsen clutched at the arms of his throne, knuckles white with strain. Realization dawned on the citizens of Mor as the councilors’ jaws fell open. Gerald grimaced; for an instant, Barris felt a shade of vertigo, a hint of nausea. The wizard and his slain master vanished with a “pop.”

  A thousand shocked faces became a thousand expressions of rage.

  Barris swallowed. “Oh, no.”

  The maddened throng surged forward in unison. Barris retreated against the wall behind him; he knew what came next, and did not want to be mistaken for one who bore allegiance to the king. The nearest rank of Defenders to the crowd were drowned in a sea of writhing, screaming citizens of Mor. A second rank behind the king rushed to guard their liege. They failed. A single swung halberd found its mark, cleaving the head of a middle-aged woman in two, the final, violent act of a frightened soldier. Barris could not see the king for the horde, but he heard his terrified screams.

  The knight turned to glance at the door to the throne room. It stood open. A half-dozen halberds lay abandoned in the doorway; Barris concluded that the Defenders had fled. If he were going to make it out alive, now was the time.

  Barris inhaled deeply, drawing on his elven spirit, and broke for the door at a speed that could not be properly named a run, nor a dash, nor a sprint. There was no word in the common language to describe the pace at which he ran. The nearest expression might be to say that he flew, but no bird nor any arrow could weave as deftly through the throng as the First Knight of Thornwood did. He simply went. He went through the door. He went down the hall. He went out the gate where a company of Defenders massed, leaping over their heads in a single vault as if they were naught but scurrying insects. He landed beyond their ranks on the paved palace square, sliding though ash as a child would skim a frozen pond.

  ~

  It took Barris less than five turns to travel the distance from the palace to the stable, a trek that had taken him an hour to walk that very morning.

  “Nikalus! Argus! To me!”

  With a deep breath and a twist, Barris snapped the iron lock that held Phantom’s stable gate closed. He led the horse from the stall and threw his saddle over the mighty steed’s back.

  Nikalus and Argus rounded the corner to the stable. “What is it, Barris? What happened?”

  “Good morning, Master Argus. Has young Nikalus told you what I proposed?”

  Argus nodded. “He has. I told him to go north to your Grove, but I cannot.”

  “Master Argus, the king is dead, or soon will be. A mob has taken over the palace. You are not safe here.” Barris secured the straps on Phantom’s left side; Nikalus secured those on the right.

  “I cannot leave my son, Sir Barris. I cannot.”

  “Sir, if I swear to you that I will come search for him when my business in the Maw is complete, will you go?” Barris mounted Phantom. “You are no good to your son dead, Argus.”

  Argus shook his head. “Then I will not die. But I will not go.” He turned to the young stablehand. “Nikalus, you go with Sir Barris now. Like we talked about.”

  “I don’t wanna leave ya, Master. Ya been like a father to me.” Nikalus hugged his master tightly.

  “Ah, and you’ve been a good son, Nikalus. The best. But listen to your father now. Go with Sir Barris. I will send for you when all is well.”

  “I cannot take him with me, Master Argus. I do not go north, I travel east. He must go alone, if you will not accompany him.”

  “I can come with you, Sir Barris! I won’t be no trouble. I’ll look after–”

  “No, Nikalus. You may not. I go to war. Listen to your father, now.”

  Nikalus looked to Argus. The man nodded.

  “Have you packed provisions?” Barris asked.

  “Yep,” the boy replied. “Master, can I buy one o’ these horses? I got the gold now–”

  “You can take Champ, Nik. And you don’t need to pay for him. Just bring him back when you come home, all right?”

  Master Argus and Barris shared a look as Nikalus saddled a light-brown paint.

  “Nikalus, give Master Argus your gold. You will not need it. In the Grove you will have everything you could want, I promise.”

  Argus objected. “Let him keep it, sir. Can’t have a boy walking around without coin.”

  Barris reached into his cloak and tossed Master Argus a pouch. “Then you keep this. But only if you promise to head for the Grove as soon as you find your Tam.”

  Argus nodded. “We will. On my word.”

  Barris clicked at Phantom. The horse turned for the road. “I have to go now, Nikalus. Do not dawdle; leave now. Right now, you understand?”

  Nikalus nodded. “I am, I am!” He led the paint from the stall. Master Argus tied a pair of bags to the saddle.

  “Bye, Phantom! See you again, I hope.” Nikalus hugged the great beast’s neck.

  “He hopes the same. Luck, Nikalus. Luck, Master Argus.”

  “Luck, First Knight,” Argus replied. “And thank you.”

  Barris reached down to pat the young boy’s head. The knight and horse broke for the northern gate at a trot.

  Argus tied a cloak around the boy and helped him into the saddle. Nikalus craned his head to watch Barris and Phantom ride away.

  “Don’t even think about it, Nik.”

  The boy smiled. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on Phantom, Master Argus!”

  “ ‘Father’. You may call me ‘father’, my sweet boy. Please, go to the Grove. I have lost one son already.”

  Nikalus bowed his head. “Yes Mas– I mean, yes, Father.”

  “That’s a good boy.” Argus patted the boy’s boot. “Now go.”

  Nikalus turned towards the road. “Hope you find Tam, Father.”

  Argus nodded, turning toward his empty house before his newly adopted son could see his tears.

  XXXXIV: THE MAW

  “Are ye sure we be in the right place, Oort?”

  Oort sighed. “I told yeh, Sergeant, this here is where we came out. Well, ’round here, leastways.”

  “How can ye be sure?” Jasper pressed.

  “Well, I just guess I canna be sure, damn yeh! But as far as I ’member, this here is where we came out! Yeh want me to make up some other idea, so yeh can stop asking me, or do yeh wanna keep lookin’?”

  Ferris grumbled. “We ain’t lookin’. Can’t see a damned thing. Fury, it’s cold.”

  Jade sought to stifle the argument. “Nothin’ for it, ye two. Keep lookin’. Kari, where ye be?”

  “Right here, Sarge.” Kari said from the sergeant’s left. “Just kickin’ snow.”

  As were they all. In the pitch-dark, pre-dawn hours, searching with their
eyes was futile, at least for the dwarves. Oort claimed to see well, and was likely not being dishonest, to Jade’s mind. He was the only one as of yet not to walk face-first into a tree. The company of five had arrived at what Oort claimed was the proper clearing several hours before, near to middlenight as Jade had expected, but finding the crevice had proven a monumental task in the calf-high snow. The five had finally resorted to a search by grid, each kicking paths of snow clear so that the gnome could look for clues or signs of the hidden entrance. Large, unseen boulders occasionally blocked their way, generally discovered only when a scout would yelp after slamming frozen toes into the stony obstacles. Presently Jasper found just such a rock.

  “Gah! Blasted, furious mother o’ demons–”

  “Quiet!” Ferris hissed. “Sarge, you hear that?”

  The five listened quietly.

  “What is that?” Kari asked.

  “Shh!” Oort demanded.

  A faint, repetitive clicking sound seemed to emanate from the ground.

  “What is that?” Jade repeated.

  “Our way in,” Oort reported cheerfully. “Well, close enough. That, friends, is the sound o’ flint on stone. And that means we ain’t where we’re s’posed to be.”

  “I coulda told ye that,” Jasper mocked.

  “Shut it, Jas. Where we s’posed to be then, Oort?”

  “Lemme think fer a turn. All right, flint on stone, this time o’ night, means we ain’t above the livin’ tunnels, ain’t nobody awake. So we gotta be… ah! That’s it! But, well, that ain’t good news.”

  “What ain’t good news?” asked Kari.

  “Well, if I’m right, that clickin’ is the kitchens firin’ up th’ovens. That part’s good, means I know where we are, and we’re close.”

  Jade was losing patience. “What’s the bad part?”

  “The bad part it, if that’s th’ovens, means we got less’n an hour afore the first horn. And when that horn sounds, the sentries make their rounds, lightin’ torches. We ain’t outta G’naath by then, we ain’t getting’ out.”

  Jade nodded. “Then we have an hour. How far from the crevice?”

  “Follow me.”

  Oort led the dwarves less than a hundred paces away. As promised, he found Shyla’s crevice almost immediately.

  “I knew we were close!” Oort said, pleased with himself.

  “Jasper.”

  “On it, Sarge.” Jasper untied a coiled rope from his pack and handed an end to Oort.

  “Stretch that out, Oort. Lemme know if it’s long enough to make it down to the bottom.”

  Oort walked a dozen paces backwards, as did Jasper. “Plenty long,” Oort said.

  “Are ye sure? Can’t be close on this one, Oort.”

  Oort’s voice took on an edge. “Plenty long.”

  “How much slack, Jas?”

  “’Nuff to tie it off to this tree.” Jasper tied the rope as Jade addressed the others.

  “All right. Kari and Oort, I want you two to stay up here–”

  “Nope.”

  Jade frowned. “Sorry?”

  “No need to be sorry,” Oort replied. “I’ll go first.”

  “No, Oort, I meant–”

  “I know what yeh meant, Sergeant. I ain’t daft. But I ain’t stayin’ up here.”

  Ferris laughed. “Told ye.”

  “Now listen, Oort–”

  “You listen. I told yeh what I intend. Yeh plan to stop me? Get one o’ them daggers out. Otherwise, stand aside, dwarf.”

  Jade shook her head as Oort began to climb down. “Dammit.”

  “I hope ye don’t plan to leave me up here alone, Sarge,” Kari pleaded.

  “Shut your trap, Kari Flint, and get down that crevice.”

  Kari smiled. “Aye, Sarge.”

  ~

  The five huddled together closely in the pitch-dark cavern, rubbing their hands and legs vigorously to hasten the sensation of warmth.

  “I say we stay here, Sarge,” Jasper whispered. “Hole up ’til spring.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Ferris agreed. “Maybe we cut a path through these gnomes and let Dohr in through the front gate.”

  Oort shot the dwarf an angry look that Jade did not miss.

  “Listen. All of you.” Jade’s tone was grave. “I don’t want this turnin’ into a bloodbath. Most these gnomes ain’t got naught to do with our troubles. We find Sandshingle, get out. No fightin’.”

  “Unless,” Ferris corrected.

  Jade nodded. “Unless.”

  Oort spoke. “Sergeant.”

  “Aye?”

  “If yeh gotta kill a dozen gnomes to get Lady Cindra out, yeh kill ’em. She’s worth a hundred, sure as stone.”

  Jade swallowed. “Let’s hope that ain’t necessary. Now, which way should Jasper go?”

  “Follow me.”

  Jade objected. “Oh, no. Jasper be our sneak thief. Ye let him do his job, mister Oort.”

  “Hmph. How many fingers am I holdin’ up, Jasper?” Oort asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Thought as much. You try.”

  “All right,” the scout replied. He extended a hand.

  “Three. Now Two. Now Four.”

  “Uh, maybe I oughta take ’im along, Sarge.”

  Jade sighed. “Fine!” she hissed. “Go, and hurry. And Oort?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try not to die. I sure as stone don’t wanna face your wife if you do.”

  “No,” Oort laughed. “Yeh don’t.”

  ~

  Jasper followed Oort through a series of tunnels, grasping the tail of the oversized spare cloak Nova had given the gnome. The scout lost all sense of time in the dark caverns, and time, just then, was everything. Jasper had no idea how much time remained before the horn blew, but he hoped he would never hear it. Just a little luck, he hoped. Just a shred of it.

  Oort stopped.

  “All right, two more turns and we’ll be in the light. Yeh see it yet?”

  Jasper shook his head.

  “Bah, yeh dwarves got eyes like bats, yeh do. Just follow me, and stay close.”

  “Ain’t that what I been doin’?”

  Oort ignored the retort. They turned left, walked a dozen paces, then turned right. Jasper could see a faint glow coming from a corridor a few dozen paces ahead.

  Jasper whispered softly. “Stay here. Lemme have a look.”

  The scout bent low, wrapping strips of cloth around his heavy boots. Satisfied, he crept cautiously forward, careful to avoid scuffing his body against the stony walls. When he reached the corridor, he pressed his back against the right wall and inched his way ahead, leaning just far enough forward to see down the hall but remain in the shadows. He repeated the exercise on the left wall, and returned to Oort.

  “Two guards standin’ near a door to the left. Tunnel’s clear to the right.”

  “What kinda door?”

  “The right kind. One small hole near the bottom.”

  “All right, good, we’re in the right place.”

  “Ye weren’t sure?”

  Oort scoffed. “Yeh see how dark it is down here?”

  Jasper shook his head, exasperated.

  “So, what’s yer plan?”

  “Well, I got two plans, Oort. One with ye, one without.”

  “What’s the one without?”

  “Well, I run up that hall, try to kill them two guards before they cry out, and pick that lock.”

  “Gnomes scare easy. What’s the one with me?”

  “I roll ye up into a ball and toss ye down the hall. Hope I get ’em both.”

  Oort laughed. “Can’t say which is better.”

  “Aye. Any ideas?”

  Oort considered the matter. “Yup. Follow me.”

  Oort stopped just short of the corridor and placed his hand on Jasper’s chest, bidding him to stay put. “When I say,” he whispered.

  Oort stumbled into the corridor, clutching at his stomach.

  “Ohhh!
Ohh, it hurts!”

  “Hey! What are yeh doin’ here, yeh canna be here!”

  Jasper heard the unfamiliar voice. He watched Oort shuffle to the left, out of sight. The scout listened attentively.

  “Ohh, yeh gotta help me, it hurts!”

  “Aw, Mawbottom. Come on.” A second voice.

  “We ain’t s’posed–”

  “I said come on!”

  “Yessir.”

  Boots shuffled. Metal jangling. Well, ain’t that lucky.

  “NOW!”

  Jasper dashed around the corner to find two gnomes lifting Oort by the armpits. The two gasped, but never had time to react, not even to turn their heads. Jasper’s dirks pierced their skulls from behind. They were dead before they exhaled.

  “Get the keys!” Jasper hissed. Oort had already unhooked them from the belt of the guard on his right. He tossed them to Jasper, who fumbled through them, trying one after another. On the fourth try, the iron lock clicked open.

  Within the cell lay the most chilling sight Jasper had ever seen. Lying on the floor, covered in caked blood and other unnamable fluids, a diminutive gnome sat huddled, chained to the floor. Jasper was certain the poor thing was dead until it lifted its face to him. Dim torchlight from the hall revealed red irises peering through battered and swollen eyelids. The old woman began to shake, struggling to lift two broken arms. She did not speak; she merely stared at Jasper. No, into him. The dwarf very nearly considered ending the woman’s suffering there and then.

  Oort entered the cell. “Cindra! Oh, dear Cindra!”

  The woman pulled backwards against her chains, terrified, feral.

  Oort knelt beside the woman. “It’s all right, Cindra. It’s me, Oort. Yeh remember me? Oort Greykin? Shyla’s father?”

  “Shyla?” The woman’s voice bubbled and cracked.

  “Jasper, we gotta go get them bodies.”

  “Forget it, Oort. No sense in hidin’ em. They’ll know soon as–”

  Oort stood, pulling Jasper by the collar. “Dammit, Jasper, shut yer trap and help me!”