Nekdukarr
Page 1
NEKDUKARR
THE CORNERSTONES TRILOGY:
BOOK 2
by
Chris A. Jackson
and
Anne L. McMillen-Jackson
Acknowledgements and Dedications
This book could not have taken form without the imaginations of three people who lived this adventure. To Jan, Kim and Anne: thank you for being my heroes.
This book is dedicated to my mother, Shirley, who read to me, and taught me that the pictures in my mind were better than television.
CAJ
This book is also dedicated to my parents, Fran and Margie, who always encouraged me to follow my dreams, even when they led me far from home.
ALMcM-J
Nekdukarr
The Cornerstones Trilogy
Book 2
by
Chris A. Jackson and Anne L. McMillen-Jackson
ePub edition
ISBN: 978-1939837042
10.25.15
The pursuit of the Cornerstones has begun...
The companions have stolen two of the four precious Cornerstones, artifacts of unbelievable power, from the Nekdukarr Iveron Darkmist. Furious at this interruption of his plans to use the Cornerstones to wage war, the Nekdukarr will stop at nothing to get them back. So while the companions pursue the last two stones, Darkmist and his assassins pursue them.
But Iveron is not the only ambitious member of Clan Darkmist. Lysethra and Calmarel, matriarchs of the clan and Iveron’s sisters, have discovered that he will soon possess a source of incalculable power. With this might behind him, they have no illusions that their brother will confine his conquest to the surface world. Their hearts are as dark and twisted as his own, and they have a secret: Jundag, who fell under the Nekdukarr’s blade in Zellohar. But death is no refuge from the servants of the Dark Gods, and the Sisters Darkmist weave Jundag’s tortured mind and soul into their web of intrigue.
As the armies of light and darkness gather for the impending battle, one thing is clear—whomever possesses the Cornerstones will decide the fate of the world.
Copyright Notice
Copyright 2009
Chris A. Jackson and Anne L. McMillen-Jackson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, except for brief quotations in printed reviews—without prior permission from the author.
Cover art by Noah Stacy
Cover Image Copyright 2009 Jaxbooks
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Map
Pantheon
deity~domain~area of influence~symbol
The Gods of Light
The Seven Heavens
~The plane of Paradise above all~
Eos All Father (The Maker)~Nimbus~maker of all~circle of gold
Demia (Keeper of the Slain)~Eroe~usher of souls~feather
Oris (The Overseer)~Librum~knowledge~crossed scrolls
Tem (The Balancer)~Ordrin~justice~silver scales
Eloss (The Defender)~Refuge~warriors~a silver shield
Koss Godslayer~Korr~champions, knights~sword-point up
The Heavens are separated from all by Purgatory
The Gods of Earth and Sky
Earth Mother (Lady of the Forest)~life, earth~tree or gem
Thotris~beauty, fertility, vanity~a hand mirror
Puc (The Trickster)~luck, trickery~any coin
Bofuli~wine, meriment~a goblet
Odea~the sea, storms~the scimitar moon
Dorin (The Delver)~greed, wealth, gold, gems~crossed picks
The Hells are separated by Limbo and the River Oblivion
The Gods of Darkness
The Nine Hells
Pergamon (The Punisher)~Agonia~pain, torture~thorned chain
Seth (The Defiler)~Malorea~decay, poison, serpents~Ouroboros
Xakra (The Tangler)~Discord~plotting, deceit, chaos~spider
Mortas (The Deathless One)~Necrol~death~interlocking crescents
Phekkar (The Flaming One)~Hades~fire~a burning sun
The Lower Hells
Grund~Lair~orcs, ogres and trolls~clenched fist
~The Void~
Draco~Pytt~dragons~reptilian eye
~The Abyss~
PRELUDE
Snow rippled with dancing moonlight and shadow, orchestra to the conductors of looming pines, their boughs lurching and vaulting in the wind. The wintery symphony blew clear and strong through the stand of tall evergreens, a rare crystalline night breeze that chased the brooding storm clouds back over the mountains. In a clearing, a sturdy farmhouse abutted a tall barn. Warm light and laughter splashed through the smoky windows to ward off the shadows at the edge of the trees, softening the stark moonlight.
Then the moon's bright face dimmed, an errant cloud silencing the music of light and shadow, plunging the scene into muted tones of grey on black. The tall pines now stood as foreboding giants, as if the veil of darkness had revealed their truer nature, the shadows at their bases deepened, heartened by the luminous orb's demise. Then something in the deeper shadows began to move. Stealthy bits of midnight slid between the trees and detached themselves from the recesses where shadows usually lurked to creep across the grey snow. Deep footprints belied the illusion of ethereality. Some skittered from the woods toward the barn, while others edged along the spears of yellow light to lurk near the door of the farmhouse.
Not a sound escaped the shadows, but they turned with mute obedience as their master appeared. The towering figure strode into the open, disdaining the need for secrecy. One thick arm bearing a great curve of jagged steel rose slowly into the air. The shadows stood poised, ready. The blade slashed the peace of the cold night air, and the grove exploded with violence.
The barn door dissolved into splinters at the first crashing blow. Brays of alarm from the mules and a milk cow's truncated bawl of terror split the night's silence. In the farmhouse, the laughter ceased. Shapes danced in the warm yellow light, moving first to the window, then to the door. The portal flew open, followed by the sharp tines of a pitchfork. These impaled an attacking shadow and blocked the clumsy sword thrust of another, but the outcome of the battle had been decided before it had even begun; outrage and farm implements were no defense against whistling arrows and flashing blades. Shadows flooded the farmhouse, muffling the screams of those still alive within.
The sacking was swift under the commands of the experienced leader. Skittish mules strained under hastily piled loads. Sacks of grain, kegs of ale and pieces of the coarsely butchered cow were divided and tied on, followed by blankets, bolts of cloth and casks of salted meat. The most pitiful baggage was hauled bound and gagged from the house, small and struggling in the grip of the attackers. Only half the size of the smallest of the invaders, the captive was tossed roughly over the back of a half-loaded mule. Only when the two buildings lay as empty shells did the attackers finally form into disorganized ranks and depart.
Silence and stillness crept back to the clearing in their wake, the scene ironically unchanged. A few splashes of crimson on the snow and the crumpled form in the doorway of the house were the only signs of the violence that had visited. Then flames began licking hungrily within the house, greedily devouring the dry wood and destroying even that lying semblance of serenity. The pyre lasted for hours, while the moon remained hidden behind its insulating cloud, as if ashamed of what it had seen.
CHAPTER 1
DoHeney swayed atop the pile of coiled rope, beam
ing out at the newly born morning. Crimson-brushed clouds signaled the beginning of their last day at sea. He had enjoyed his first sea voyage, despite the old tales that dwarves, like oil, do not mix with water. The lazy roll of the ship, and the respite from riding, hiking, sneaking and fighting, had eased the fears of these last weeks. He had strolled the decks and joined in the sailors' bawdy ballads, and even taught them a few of his own.
Crewmen hauled on lines as the ship topped a swell, and DoHeney nodded in admiration at the engineering used to control the massive vessel. These sailors manipulated the sea and wind almost as well as dwarves fashioned stone and steel.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Shay's voice sounded suddenly over DoHeney’s shoulder.
"Aye. That it is, lad," the dwarf agreed, squinting up at the rigging as he put away his dagger; three days at sea had not relaxed him that much. "But there's a thing er two that could use a touch o' dwarven ingenuity, if ye understand me thinkin'."
Shay smiled down at him and said, "Perhaps your people have missed their calling all these countless ages. A sailing vessel of dwarven design would be a wonder to behold."
"Yer right there, boyo," DoHeney said. "But I'll wager yer own kind have built many a sea goin' craft ta make the likes o' this ol' tub look like a sow in the mud."
"No, to my knowledge, there are no half-elfin, Tem-worshiping, magic-dabbling shipbuilders," Shay said as he smiled and clapped DoHeney on the shoulder as the dwarf cringed at the attempted humor. "But, alas, my mother's kin no longer concern themselves with the sea."
As they gazed at the sunrise, the dwarf considered his companion. DoHeney understood neither elves nor humans, and this half-elf confused him doubly. Shay could heal wounds like a priest, conjure fire spells like a wizard, wield a war hammer like a warrior, and melt the heart of any barmaid in the Northern Realms. And although his skills had an air of effortlessness, that air concealed a hidden anxiety.
The wrinkles of worry that lined the priest's face when he thought himself unobserved were back. Yes, there was turmoil behind those unfathomable violet eyes, but it was not from what had happened to them in or after Zellohar; he was nervous about what lay directly ahead. For, no matter how much Shay raved about the fair city of Fengotherond, the half-elf's distress increased with each closing league.
And I'm gonna find out why! DoHeney resolved as he turned toward the priest. "Shay, I been meanin' ta—"
"Stop hanging all over me!"
The loud complaint cut through the stiff breeze all the way from the aft of the ship, drawing smiles from Shay and DoHeney. Avari had finally awakened from her medicated slumber, and from the sound of it, was not pleased at being treated like an invalid.
Sailors a full hand shorter than the woman gave her a wide berth, though whether from her size, the greatsword slung over her shoulder or the murderous glint in her eyes, DoHeney couldn't tell. She wove a path to the foredeck, gripping the railing grimly and pulling her cloak close to ward off the gusts that threatened to invade her threadbare garments.
"You're not well enough for this, Avari," Lynthalsea protested, trailing close behind. Sailors stared at the contrasting women despite Avari's glares, comparing the tall, muscular human to the slim elfin beauty.
"I am fine, Lynthalsea," Avari insisted, turning to tower over the other woman. "I'm not going to be sick, I'm just hungry!"
"And how fares our mighty warrioress o' the green complexion?" DoHeney asked in his usual undwarf-like manner. Quizzing Shay would just have to wait.
"I told her she was too weak to be walking about on deck," Lynthalsea scolded, "but she refused to listen."
DoHeney laughed, then glanced over at Shay and sighed in exasperation. Not again! he thought as he watched Shay's countenance melt into pasty adoration. Whenever Lynthalsea was near, the priest acted like a smitten schoolboy. Fortunately, DoHeney preferred his women a little shorter and plumper, perhaps with some neatly-trimmed muttonchops...
"I just need some food," Avari said, her voice soft but still strong. "If I could have some..." She looked around at the tinted sky. "Is this sunrise or sunset?"
"'Tis a beauty o' a sunrise, lass."
"Then, if I can have some breakfast, I'll be fine." She turned to Shay. "How long was I out this time?"
"Only a day and a half," Shay answered with a smile. "It would have been less, if you'd taken the medicine before becoming ill. We should be in the city in time for lunch."
"I hope so. My stomach feels like it's been empty for a week." A loud growl from Avari's midriff declared its own opinion on her enforced starvation.
"Come with me," Shay offered. "Let us see if we can find something to pacify the beast that dwells in your middle."
DoHeney's smile faded as he watched the pair stroll off. If he was ignorant of the root of Shay's apprehension, knowing the source of Avari's depression offered no solace. Avari's self-imposed and unforgiving guilt ate at her confidence daily.
The lass seems all right now, he mused, but she's still half asleep and probably hasn't remembered to feel sorrowful yet.
The girl had been through so much lately that none could fault her for her temper. She had taken the guilt of her father's and Jundag's deaths, and the responsibility for the safety of the rest of her friends, onto her own shoulders.
She's bound to snap out o' it sometime... he thought, turning back to the rail to see Lynthalsea's troubled gaze tracking Shay and Avari across the mid-deck to the sterncastle.
"Avari is not as well as she pretends," she said.
"Now what makes ye think that, lass?"
"I can still smell the sickness on her."
"Really?" DoHeney asked, his insatiable curiosity piqued. "I know yer sight is better'n most, and them pointy ears probably do somethin' fer yer hearin', but I didn't know elves could smell way down to a person's wellbein'."
"Elves can't," she said with a smile. "Wolves can."
DoHeney gaped, his awe masked by his disheveled beard. "Ye mean you've the senses o' a beastie all o' the time?"
"Not all the time," she answered. "Only when I concentrate and change form a bit."
As DoHeney narrowed his eyes in skepticism, Lynthalsea sighed and explained.
"When I first contracted my... condition, I had no control over my changes, but during my years in the forest, I gained mastery of my affliction. That's how I am able to use the senses of a wolf. I merely concentrate, like this."
Lynthalsea's hand, presently draped over the rail, began to change. Hair sprouted and thickened as her fingers retracted into short padded toes and her pink nails narrowed into claws. The hairy paw on the end of a bare, slim wrist looked incongruous.
Oh, that's disgustin'! DoHeney thought, coughing to hide his revulsion. "Quite a trick ye have there, lass," he managed, his smile strained. "But don't ye concern yerself with ship's sickness. That's the least of Avari's worries."
“The least of all of our worries,” she agreed as they both turned back toward the rail.
The morning sky had brightened to a brilliant blue accented with sweeping clouds, the sun smiling down as if mocking their concerns. On the distant shore, a reflection gleamed like a diamond caught in a blaze of firelight. And so was their first glimpse of Fengotherond, the domed city of wonders.
Pain...
With consciousness came pain. Not the sharp, isolated pain of a wound, but a dull, all-encompassing ache. As he swam toward wakefulness, the pain became more distinct: arms cramped as they hung above his head, wrists worn raw by rough iron, head pounding, muscles aching with disuse.
Finally awake, he opened his eyes, only to slam them tightly shut in shock. Total darkness; he could see nothing.
He was blind.
But curiosity and a deeply ingrained belligerence won out over his fear. He opened his eyes again and stared hard into the darkness, daring the gods to have taken his sight. After some time he could make out slivers of light outlining a door. From the manacles he deduced that he was in a cell, but he had no
idea how he had come to be here. He leaned his head against the stone, letting the cool dampness sooth his pounding head.
Physically he was uninjured, though he had never felt so drained. Curiously, his mind also felt drained, as if caught in a fog. He tried to remember what had happened, how he had gotten here, but glimpsed only vague images.
Another night with too much ale and not enough meat, he thought without a great deal of worry. His stomach protested as painfully as his head. Whatever the drink had made him do, it was bad enough to land him in prison for the night. Time to do something besides sit on this slimy floor.
He grabbed the chains, hoisted himself to his feet, and instantly regretted it. The expected relief of his aching muscles was superseded by a stunning blow as his head hit the ceiling.
What in the name of Hades? He groaned in anguish as he lowered himself back into a half-squat.
His questing fingers met solid stone no more than five feet above the floor. This was not like any prison he had been in before. It was almost like it had not been made for normal-sized humans. A brutish visage flashed into his memory, curved tusks from a piggish snout, only to fade before he could comprehend it. Where the hell am I? he thought, panic rising in his throat.
With an energy born of desperation, he heaved on the thick cast-iron links that bound him. Nothing. Again! Turning around to place his feet against the wall, he strained with his broad back, his shoulders parting the threadbare seams of his tunic. The skin on his hands split, wetting the chains, and a muscle in his back wrenched painfully. Nothing. Gulping breath, his heart racing, he fought to gather his wits, clenching his teeth against the rising panic. Then he began to think.
Time passed slowly, like the melting of snow in spring, time in which he listened and thought, but never found an answer. He hummed an ancient tune for wont of something better to do, wondering at his recollection of the melody when more substantial memories were denied him.