Nekdukarr

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Well enough, sir." Kaplan patted the deep-chested bay on the neck. "Sturdy enough, but not war-trained to be sure."

  "Good. We can use yours to gauge how the others are doing. We'll stop for breakfast when the sun comes up. I want you and the other sergeants to check all the mounts personally." Yenjil reached over to pat Kaplan’s horse. The mare was beautiful, well-trained, and bore an unusual brand. Little did he know that Avari would have recognized that brand in an instant.

  "Aye, sir," Kaplan saluted as he reined in, then faded back toward the rear of the column.

  CHAPTER 40

  Drumbeats stirred Avari from a fitful sleep to numbing pain in her wrists and arms. Falling asleep in manacles was no way to rest, but her exhaustion had brooked no argument. DoHeney also roused as the noise grew louder, but Lynthalsea remained comatose, her visage only paler for the night's discomfort.

  "Wha's goin' on?" DoHeney rumbled, shaking his head to clear his head. "Not exactly me favorite jig they're playin'. Sounds more like a funeral dirge than anythin' else."

  "Careful, DoHeney," Avari said, flexing her hands to return some feeling. "It may our funeral dirge before the day's out."

  A pall of cold, fatalistic determination blanked her mind as the first of Darkmist's retinue entered. Two ogres sporting wickedly curved halberds and ceremonial armor stationed themselves at either side of the entry, rapping the butts of their weapons in steady cadence with the dirge. The hulking rock troll ducked through next, four great stone-shaking strides taking it to a spot directly in front of Avari, Gaulengil gleaming only feet away from her hands. Orc drummers advanced in orderly rows and lined the three walls not occupied by the companions. Four pairs of armored wagloks then entered, their long braids swaying in unison as each pair bore an elaborately pillowed litter into the room. From atop each litter flared the light of a cornerstone. Multi-hued reflections danced along the silver-inscribed floor like magical spiders on dew-drenched webs, incongruously beautiful in the grim surroundings.

  Then Iveron Darkmist entered, and cold fingers of revulsion gripped Avari's heart. His demon helm, ebony armor and swirling cape seemed to draw shadows from the chamber’s corners and chill the air. The glittering runes became writhing wet things in the dim light of a dripping cave, and gave the gruesome helm upon the Nekdukarr's brow a semblance of animation.

  Iveron Darkmist strode to each litter and, one by one, gently lifted each gem and positioned it on its respective pedestal. With each placement, the drumbeat intensified, and webs of energy arced through the network of runes. Red, white, green, and finally blue sparks danced around the circle, crackling the air with their magic. When the last gem settled into place, the display abated to a low, steady hum of power, and the silver tracings glowed with a magical aura.

  Avari stared, riveted by the spectacle, awe and fear vying for space in her battered psyche. She felt that she should be doing something—trying to escape, planning to fight—but she could not tear her eyes from the fantastic scene. Then a firm pressure on her forearm snapped her trance.

  "Be still!" Shay's disembodied voice rasped near her ear. "I've got to help Lynthalsea first."

  Avari nodded once, her heart leaping with excitement. Shay’s grasp on her arm withdrew, but it mattered not: he had found them, he was here. Covertly, she watched color flush into Lynthalsea’s face, then the bruise faded and her eyes fluttered open. The elf opened her mouth as if to cry out, but no sound issued forth. Slowly, her horrified mien calmed, soothed, Avari knew, by Shay's gentle words.

  DoHeney appeared startled at the changes in Lynthalsea, then he also grew calm. Avari watched as the raw sores around his manacles faded. His hands clenched open and closed fitfully now, and he favored her with a sly wink.

  "Your turn, Avari," Shay whispered. It was all she could do to keep from grinning. "I'll heal you, but I must wait to release you. We must act at the right moment. The spell must not be broken at the wrong time if we hope to survive."

  She wanted to ask a dozen questions, but the quiet flood of airy syllables that purged the pain and healed the cuts and abrasions of Darkmist's vile ministrations, also gave her the strength to quell her curiosity. She would have to follow her friend's lead and hope his plan would not interfere with her own. For, as soon as the manacles left her wrists, she had only one goal: kill Iveron Darkmist. Even if she had to use her bare hands, the Nekdukarr who had killed Jundag, the foul beast who had defiled her with his putrid touch, would die.

  Lord-General Iveron Darkmist continued the meticulous ritual, oblivious to Avari's hate-filled glare. Indeed, he was oblivious to everything except the gems and the circle of runes before him. He had worked several lifetimes to gain this power, and nothing would stop him now. The Nekdukarr drew on his magic, a flicker compared to the might of the gems, but a spark to ignite the spells dictated by the runes. Gently, he touched a tendril of his magic to the rune of activation... and knew victory.

  The power swelled within him, filling him to overflowing and beyond. More power than he had ever known, more power than had been channeled through him throughout his entire life, now pressed outward from within every cell of his body. He took that power in, and was not afraid. Awed, yes. Worried, slightly. But fear was one emotion he had never felt toward magic. If the power overcame him, if he was burned to a cinder by its might, so be it. He would die willingly, joyously, to know such power.

  He forced his mind to the task at hand. It was time.

  Iveron moved to the focal point, a small disk designated by two intersecting tangents to the circle, and raised his arms. The drums were instantly silent, and he began chanting. His voice was firm as it recited the phrase that would direct the power of the gems. Energy arced in multi-hued bolts of lightning between the cornerstones and along the now painfully luminous runes. A dull glow formed in the center of the circle and became brighter, finally defining a large oval.

  As Iveron shouted out the last word, the portal to Necrol snapped open.

  Billowing gusts of icy air, the cold of death, swept into the room. The Nekdukarr sucked in a deep breath and his lungs ached with the chill, but he did not notice. The door remained open, and he smiled in satisfaction. There was only one more element to his incantation: a name.

  "Cannoth! By your soul-name, Xtriphen, I command you!" The power of the demon's soul-name shook the chamber. "Come forth!"

  It stepped through.

  Avari caught only a glimpse of a tall figure before her attention was drawn away by a gasp of alarm. Lynthalsea's slim frame shook with horror. The poor elf's face was completely void of color, her hands clenching her manacles as if she would rip them from the stone in her hysterical desire to flee. Her eyes were riveted to the center of the magical circle, to the creature that stood there.

  "What the devil's wrong with ye, lass?" DoHeney hissed, trying not to draw attention. "It's jist some manner o' beastie he's conjured up. It's disgustin', ta be sure, but—"

  "Noooooo!" she wailed miserably, unable to wrench her gaze from the demon. "It's him! It's the one!"

  "The one what?" Avari asked, some of the elf’s terror infecting her. She had never heard such horror in anyone's voice.

  Lynthalsea finally turned away from the spectacle, her tear-streaked cheek pressed hard against the cold stone wall. "It's what killed my father," she said with a sob. "I remember it now. It held me close and... spoke to me. Then it... it—"

  "Easy, lass," DoHeney cautioned. "Buck up a bit there. We'll be gittin' outa this soon enough."

  Avari turned to the beast, more curious than fearful. What manner of creature could have thrown Lynthalsea into such hysterics?

  At first glance, Cannoth looked like a hugely muscled human, twelve feet of papery nut-brown skin stretched taut over straining chords of sinew. A sparse girdle of hide around its loins was its only garment. Above its rippling shoulders, however, Cannoth was anything but human. Unearthly red eyes gleamed from the head of a great wolf, and lips snarled back from six-inch black f
angs. The lupine head turned, scrutinizing the chamber at a glance, and Avari’s legs quaked when it momentarily met her gaze. Thankfully, the Fargmir turned its attention to Iveron Darkmist.

  Iveron breathed a sigh of satisfaction as Cannoth's dark gaze settled upon him. He stared back without fear, without worry, and without a doubt that his victory was at hand.

  The portal began to close, but before it did, a huge glacier jackal leapt through. Taller than a pony, it was by far the largest canine Iveron had ever seen, with an unnaturally stark-white coat and evil black eyes that told him it was no ordinary beast. It was a demon, one of Cannoth's dreaded pack with which he scoured the icy plains of Necrol. It stood beside its master and growled.

  "You have made a grave error in summoning me, Nekdukarr," the Fargmir rumbled, flicking its slavering black tongue hungrily over its muzzle.

  "I require your assistance, Cannoth. The time has come for the children of the Dark Gods to take their place on the surface of this world, and crush the minions of the lesser gods." He smiled tightly at the demon lord. "As before, you will lead my army in its conquest."

  "Your last attempt to conquer the surface of this world failed, and I was left to roam the wilderness until Mortas finally summoned me back to Necrol." The Fargmir folded its massive arms in defiance. "I have no desire to partake in another of your failures."

  "Truthfully, Cannoth," Darkmist smirked haughtily, "I have little interest in your desires. If you refuse to serve me willingly, you will do so under duress."

  "Your powers must have increased greatly if you think that you can force Mortas' foremost Fargmir into your service!"

  "I can see you doubt my veracity," Iveron said. "I thought you might require a demonstration of my new powers."

  Iveron uttered a brief command, and searing bolts of white-hot flame burst from several points around the rune-inscribed circle. Cannoth raised a hand to ward off the attack, but the swirling flames bypassed him. Rather, they converged on his companion, blasting the unsuspecting creature to a charred pile of smoldering meat. When the haze of burned hair and ozone cleared, Cannoth stood seething, staring down at the remains. The Nekdukarr had reduced the powerful demon to ashes with a single word.

  "So... paladin of my liege, the Deathless One," the demon growled, standing erect again to confront its loathsome captor, "if you wield such might, why do you require my services?"

  "Though the power is mine, it is limited in its versatility," the Nekdukarr explained. "You, on the other hand, may travel the length and breadth of the continent unhindered to do my bidding. With you as its vanguard, my army will be invincible."

  "Your offer lacks... incentive," Cannoth rumbled. "If you destroy my physical form, my soul will return to Necrol. Your torments could be no worse than the debasement of serving you."

  "Your service will not go unrewarded, Cannoth," Iveron promised. "You will have one third of the magical wealth reaped in the cleansing of the surface. In addition, half of all the prisoners taken in my conquests will be yours to do with as you will." The Nekdukarr smiled, sweeping an arm toward the bound prisoners. "As incentive I give you these three, a sampling of the primary races that oppose me."

  "I have no use for a dwarf," the Fargmir said, inspecting them with merciless eyes. "The human might be amusing for a time, but... I am truly intrigued by the elf woman." It looked sidelong at Iveron. "Are there many like her in this world?"

  "Entire nations, Cannoth," Darkmist assured the leering demon, noting the hungry gleam in its eyes.

  "Interesting indeed," it murmured. "Might I have a closer look at this one?"

  "Of course. Kurrekk, take the elf closer to the circle."

  Lynthalsea whimpered in stark terror as the troll wrenched her chains from the wall. As it hauled her toward the demon lord, she struggled hysterically, but her strength was not even a nuisance to the creature. Cannoth's gaze bore into her, drawing her eyes like a magnet. When she finally looked into those pitiless red orbs, a voice reverberated inside her head. It was a voice she had heard before, and it stirred her memories like a nest of hornets.

  *So, little one, you have survived the blessing that I bestowed upon you those many years ago. And I see you have learned to use it; this is good. Take your other form now, my little wolf, and help me end this foolishness.*

  Revulsion surged through her at the thought of aiding the being that had killed her father, but the compulsion in Cannoth's words was more than a request. Part of her, the wolf part, strove to comply. She tried to fight it, but then she heard the Nekdukarr’s laughter and realization dawned; Cannoth was only a tool, the vile Nekdukarr was its wielder. Relaxing, she stopped resisting the transformation, and her slim paws slipped through the manacles.

  Kurrekk grunted in surprise when the elf transformed into a wolf, but he was no stranger to the magical tricks of wizards, and managed to catch one of the paws before the animal got away. Unexpectedly, the wolf sank its fangs into his wrist, and his surprise instantly turned to outrage.

  "Kill it!" Darkmist commanded, keeping his position at the control focus, his attention on the Fargmir. The troll was only too happy to comply.

  Maintaining his hold on the wolf’s paw, Kurrekk reached for the sword at his waist. He hadn’t had an opportunity to use it since Lord Darkmist had presented it to him at the time of the woman’s capture. Now was his chance to see what it could do.

  Gaulengil was angry, for the pact had been broken.

  Its rightful master had fallen, and it had been sheathed without being allowed to drink. The ancient covenant between master and sword, pledged when the newly forged blade had been tempered in blood, commanded that the blade drink.

  So now, finally free of its scabbard, it drank.

  Avari watched in horror as the troll drew Gaulengil to use against her friend. That the sword she loved so much, the sword that had saved her life a dozen times, was to be used to slay Lynthalsea, was just too much to bear.

  “Shay!” she screamed, desperate for release from the manacles. Blood trickled down her wrist as she tried to pull free, but she suddenly stopped struggling.

  As Gaulengil cleared its sheath, its green light flooded the chamber, outshining even the glow of the cornerstones for a moment. The sword abruptly twisted about, slicing into the troll’s own leg. Howling in pain, the hulking thing let go of the hilt, the wolf forgotten.

  Gaulengil went berserk.

  Avari cried out in shocked glee as Gaulengil whirled in the air, and the troll’s hand fell away in a spray of black blood. The gleaming blade slashed twice more before the echo of her cry stilled, severing the troll's arm at the elbow and again at the shoulder. Shocked horror painted the troll's features even as its blood painted the walls and floor. Then Gaulengil ended the fell creature's terror, slicing through its chest and severing its head with two more lightning strokes.

  "GAULENGIL!!" Avari screamed with all her strength as she felt her manacles fall open.

  The greatsword streaked like an emerald lightning bolt to its rightful master's waiting hand just as the stunned guards drew weapons and charged.

  Lynthalsea dropped to the floor in a spray of troll blood, her paws scrambling on the slick surface as she dashed away. Knowing she had little hope against all the foes circling the room, she decided on a new strategy.

  She was no mage, by her own admission, but she knew first hand how even the simplest spell could go awry if anything went wrong. Running at full speed, she slammed into an ornate stand that held one of the cornerstones. The stand vibrated on its welded base with the impact, and the sapphire fell to the floor.

  The spells powered by the cornerstones failed, and the shimmering wall of force confining the Fargmir, Cannoth of Necrol, flickered out of existence.

  Iveron Darkmist, his attention fixed on the Fargmir, felt a shift in the power that coursed through him; something had disrupted his spell.

  No! he thought wildly. My plan is perfect. There can be no error!

  But even as
he disavowed it, the glimmer of the shield surrounding Cannoth disappeared, and the Fargmir howled in triumph. The demon stepped toward its former captor, summoning a huge black-iron axe to its hand and raising it in a deadly arc. But Iveron was a warrior of no thin mettle, and he had not reached the pinnacle of service to Mortas through hesitation. He wrenched Doom Giver from its scabbard and raised it to deflect the demon's deadly blow.

  The two weapons clashed with a discordant crash like shattering cymbals. Cannoth's weapon, however, was the stronger, and was wielded by the might of a Fargmir; Doom Giver, fell blade of the underworld, shattered into molten shards of glowing slag.

  Iveron used the momentum of the impact to roll away from his opponent even as he tried to comprehend this second blow to his plan.

  I will not fall to a hell-spawned demon, Fargmir or no! he raged. I will not fail! I summoned it; I am its master!

  Hissing in furious frustration, he fumbled for a scroll.

  Avari and DoHeney were backed into a corner, defending themselves against two raging ogres, eight wagloks and a squad of screeching orcs. The dwarf had snatched up a brazier and flung the bowl of burning coals into the face of a charging waglok. The creature stumbled away, screeching horribly as it beat at its flaming mats of hair. An ogre stepped forward, then howled as its feet hissed on the glowing coals strewn across the floor. Its pain ended in a flash of emerald and steel.

  Gaulengil's razor edge and the brazier's sharp corners swept in deadly arcs at two levels. DoHeney fought directly in front of Avari, matching her reach and smashing his improvised weapon into the knees of those defending themselves against Gaulengil's slashing emerald brilliance. Avari glanced toward Darkmist, yearning to hack him to mincemeat, but there was no way to reach him. Tirelessly, she and DoHeney fought on.

  Iveron ducked a blow that shook the entire chamber as it struck the wall, and dove into a roll that brought him back to the apex of the broken circle of power. Cannoth whirled, but the Nekdukarr was already reading the scroll, his contingency plan. The words of power reactivated the magical runes. Energy arced from the three remaining gems to the Fargmir, binding him, helpless and wracked with pain.