The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur

by J. Kent Holloway

  He struggled to sit up, and an unseen hand pressed down upon his injured shoulder. He spasmed in both surprise and pain at the phantom touch. “Holy…! Who’s there?”

  A gentle feminine voice eased out of the shadows. “Shhhhh,” she said. “Do not try to talk. We have to stave off the blood. Fast. Or it will attract…”

  Krin smacked the hand away, crab-walking backwards to get away from the intruder. “Who are you?” he asked; his voice cracked nervously. He turned toward the voice dipped in honey, speaking perfect, but overly-articulated Latin. “I’m not about to let you touch me until I know who you are!”

  “I am trying to help. Just let me stop the bleeding. Please. Before the smell draws the…”

  “No way!” Krin knew he was being irrational. If the strange female had wanted to hurt him, she had plenty of time to do it while he had been unconscious. She seemed genuinely concerned about the bleeding. With all the events of the last few weeks, he was not feeling particularly trustful of anyone. Besides, in this strange land of dwarves and goblins, there was no telling what manner of monster he was currently incarcerated with.

  “Not until I know more about you. Who are you? What are you? Why are you here?”

  There was movement to his left, a dark silhouette against an even darker background. The figure edged closer to him, then stooped down.

  “I should ask you the same questions!” she said. “We were betrayed. My company and I were attacked along the road to Stindoln on our way to…well, the point is, the goblins ambushed us. They knew we were coming. Knew precisely what route we had planned to take on our mission.” She paused to catch her breath. “So, for all I know, you are some sort of spy or assassin thrown in here to do A’lthala only knows what to me.

  "And you are bleeding; that could spell doom for both of us, you twit, so be quiet, and let me have a look at it!”

  A’lthala? Sounds dwarfish. Although the receding light wasn’t bright enough to reveal much of his cellmate, the shadowy form in front of him didn’t seem to be small enough for her to be a dwarf. And well, she was a girl. According to Garhet, there were no more female dwarves.

  She did make a certain kind of sense. She had been imprisoned by the goblins, just like he was. In this particular instance, perhaps the logic of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ was perfectly reasonable. Besides, if his injury didn’t stop bleeding soon, he would pass out from exsanguination anyway. Might as well take the risk.

  Just as he opened his mouth to offer his permission, the trapdoor above rattled and shook violently against its frame. A second later, a tiny crack appeared in the wood, and three tiny spheres of yellow-green incandescence—like the tails of a fireflies—flitted down into the pit, landing inches from Krin’s feet.

  With a sharp cry, the female stumbled back, landing gracelessly on her rear. “Imps!” she yelled, scampering back to the opposite wall. “You have imps!”

  Krin grinned. The woman’s reaction had been unexpected, if not, in his opinion, a little overly dramatic. Sure, the imps had been a nuisance from time to time, but they had certainly bailed him out of a couple of jams since they had decided to tag along on this journey. He didn't know much about the creatures and up till now, they had never ventured so close to him before. Now, they stood, tiny arms crossed over emaciated chests, and glaring at the strange woman. To Krin, it appeared as though they were defending him against the stranger.

  “Well, yeah,” Krin said, still smiling at his cellmate’s reaction to his unusual companions. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “But…but they are imps!” In the ghostly illumination, Krin managed a glimpse of the girl for the first time since being imprisoned. Her skin was smooth, and silky, marked by a series of strange tattoos that resembled thorny vines that traced up and down her arms, moving up her neck, and adorned her elegantly chiseled jawline and cheekbones. Though the bio-luminescence given off by the imps painted the cell in shades of green and yellow, the woman’s skin seemed to be cast inexplicably in a bluish tint.

  Her hair was what Krin found to be the most fascinating. From the moment he noticed it, he could only stare, slack-jawed. She wore it pulled back into a severe, but practical pony tail. But what struck him most, was the color. Under the ethereal glow given off by the imps, her hair glimmered white. Or silver. He wasn't sure. And even though he couldn’t quite make out the color of her eyes, he was certain her irises would most assuredly be a bright shade of violet…exactly like his own.

  Her eyes widened as she looked back at him. Apparently, she was processing the exact same information about him.

  “You are…you are…but you’re supposed to...” If she ever got the words out, Krin had no way of knowing. Between the blood loss and sudden surprise of her being there sent his world him into an uncontrollable spin. His stomach threatened to expel his last meal, then oblivion claimed him again.

  ***

  He awoke, to the feverish ministrations of an imp, who crouched on his shoulder, patching up his wound. Tiny hands dabbed on a horrid-smelling salve, then spreading it as evenly as possible across the jagged opening. Despite the odor, there was no denying its soothing effects throughout his entire body.

  While the creature worked, Krin was glad for the opportunity to thoroughly examine his new friends for the first time. From his vantage point, it was impossible to tell whether the imp was male or female. It was only about three inches tall, with long spindly legs, and a squat torso. Its arms were long and thin as, well, like those of a spider's. The imp's head was almost perfectly round with black, bulbous eyes that occupied the most of the upper portion of its face. Below the eyes, and above the chin was little more than a slash forming a grotesque grin that was filled to capacity with tiny, saw-like teeth. When the creature turned to the side to get more salve, Krin noticed that it sported translucent wings made of a thin membrane that seemed to be in constant motion—like those of a hummingbird. The only feature not perfectly identical with its two companions were the two feather-like protrusions jutting out from the imp’s heels.

  Like the god Hermes, Krin thought. Winged feet. Only the anomaly were definitely not wings, nor did they ever appear to move. “I guess I’ll call you Hermes, then.” The imp stopped what he was doing, looked at Krin for a brief moment, then shook his head excitedly. ”Yeah, you’re right. Too formal. Besides, my father wouldn’t approve of using a heathen god’s name. So, how ‘bout just Hermie.” The imp nodded enthusiastically, then continued with its doctoring. “Yeah, I like that too.”

  Krin turned towards the second imp, who perched on his other shoulder and watched with great admiration at its sibling’s medical ministrations. The creature resembled Hermie. Except this one lacked feathered feet. It had a peculiar way of holding its head to one side—as if it was far too heavy to hold upright. Given its twig-like neck, Krin wondered if his assessment wasn’t perfectly accurate. When the creature noticed Krin’s attention, it cocked its head to the other side, and favored him with a wide, gleeful grin, which allowed its purple-black tongue to involuntarily loll out to one side in the most ridiculous manner.

  This one’s a bit askew. Krin returned the imp’s smile with a wink. ”So that’s what I’ll call you. You’ll be called Askew.”

  It took Krin a few moments to locate the third and largest imp by the telltale glow of the small membrane of its backside. It seemed to have cornered Krin’s female cellmate, and now stood guard with its arms folded boldly across its chest between her and Krin. Standing at close to six inches tall, it was by far the most foreboding of the three creatures, and seemed to feel as though it was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

  “You are actually naming them?” the girl asked, a touch of disgust in her tone.

  Ignoring her, he glanced at the larger imp, and nodded. “Sentinel. Your name most assuredly will be Sentinel.”

  Krin wasn’t entirely sure it was his place to give the imps names, but since they didn’t seem to speak, and seemed intent on joining
him on his journey to Madagus Keep, he figured he would need to call them something. Besides, the fact that it appeared to bother his cellmate was a guilty pleasure he just couldn’t pass up.

  He wasn’t entirely sure if he should trust the creatures, given both Garhet’s and his cellmate’s reaction to them, and the fact that one had bitten him, as well as hidden his quiver at a crucial moment on the ship. Honestly, he wasn't sure what to make of them since they certainly seemed to be taking care of him at the moment, and he knew he could definitely use all the help he could get.

  He watched as Hermie scurried back and forth, collecting the odd assortment of material from the shadows of the cell, only to return a few seconds later in a flurry to apply a new coat to the salve spread over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he said, nodding to the feathered imp. If Hermie heard him, or understood, it gave no reaction, but continued with its important work.

  “Why are you encouraging them?” the girl asked from across the room. Sentinel snapped out a low growl at her question, and leaned threateningly toward her.

  “It’s all right, Sentinel,” Krin said. “Let her speak.” The large imp looked around to Krin, scowled with annoyance, and then relaxed. His black eyes were still fixed on the young woman, but a little less menacing.

  The girl’s mouth dropped open. “It obeyed you,” she said. “It actually, literally obeyed you.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Are you a sorcerer of some kind?” she asked. “Have you somehow bound their will to yours?”

  “Uh, no. They just like me, I suppose.”

  The girl laughed. It was melodic, and invigorating to Krin’s ears. “Imps like no one but themselves,” she said. “They are vermin, and nothing more.”

  At that, all three imps stopped what they were doing, and hissed at her.

  “And I think you’re just jealous ‘cause they’re helping me, and not you.” Krin grinned, then nodded at each imp in silent thanks. His three new friends returned the nod, then Hermie ceremoniously stepped away from the treated wound, and took to the air above Krin’s head. With great flourish, the imp bowed, then gestured to Krin’s shoulder with a toothy smile.

  Tentatively, Krin touched the sticky paste covering the wound. Satisfied it would stave off any blood flow, he pulled himself to his feet, looked over at the girl, and gave a slight bow.

  “My name’s Krin, by the way.”

  “How unfortunate for you,” she said with a scowl. She moved away from the wall the moment Sentinel joined its companions.

  Krin ignored the insult, finding himself able to only stare at the girl in fascination. She returned his gaze, her curious eyes roving up and down his shock of silver-white hair. Feeling self-conscious, he averted his eyes. He understood her curiosity. Never in his few short years, had he ever encountered another person with traits such as his. His mind now buzzed in a whirlwind of questions.

  But not yet, Krin thought. Right now, we have to figure a way out of here before Tuhg decides what to do with me. With us.

  “All right,” he said. “You can tell me your name later, if you like. Let’s get out of here first.”

  She laughed again. The sound once more eliciting a reaction within him that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if the sound her voice could reach down into the pit of his soul, and sooth it with its feathery touch. “I' have been here for three days,” she said. “If there was a way out, do you not think I would have found it before?”

  Krin shrugged. “You didn’t have me before.” He then nodded over to the imps. “Or them.”

  Grinning, he scooped up the rope the goblin had dropped, and turned to the imps. “Hermie, take this.” The feathered imp complied, taking the end of the rope imperiously in both hands. Its wings beat furiously against the extra weight. Krin could see pure determination in the Hermie’s face as it ground its teeth together.

  “Excellent. Now, you three carry it up through the door, and secure it to something that will support me and…” He looked at the girl. “…whoever she is. Once it’s secure, signal us. Can you do that?”

  Hermie looked to Askew and Sentinel. All three nodded their understanding, and took to the air. As they approached the trapdoor, the three yellow-green glows of their backsides quickly ebbed. Then, without a sound, they slipped through the cracks, and were out. The rope slid through as well, being fed carefully by Krin’s sweating palm. He beamed at the girl. This was going to be easier than he imagined.

  The rope continued to slip through his guiding hands until, without warning, it shot up and away out of his reach, dancing merrily through the crack of the trapdoor to the sounds of mischievous laughter.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Wait. What?” Krin stared down at his empty hands, then back up at the trapdoor. The rope was nowhere in sight, and within seconds, the imps’ giggles had completely faded into the distance.

  The girl laughed for a third time, this time bringing a wave of nausea in the pit of his gut. “Good thing you and those vermin are here to save me, eh?” she said, her hands firmly planted on her hips in the newly darkened cell.

  “But…but that’s not how that was supposed to happen…”

  “Of course it is. At least, in their mind, anyway.” She stepped forward, and placed a hand gently on Krin’s good shoulder. The playful glee she had exhibited just a moment before, was gone. “Look. It is their nature. They are tricksters. Vile, irritating, pranksters to their very core. I will admit, I was rather impressed at how loyal they appeared to be toward you, but obviously, it was all part of the joke.” She paused as if contemplating something for a moment. “Granted, it is rather high-brow for their kind. I have never heard of such advanced trickery from their race before. But in the end, it is what they are. Do not feel too bad about falling for their treachery. They were quite convincing.”

  Defeated, Krin felt his way over to the cell wall, and slid to the floor with a groan. “I really thought that was going to work.”

  Krin sensed the girl’s movement as she walked over to him and sat down. After a few moments of silence, she reached out, and patted him on his leg. “It honestly was not a bad idea,” she said. “Imps just cannot be trusted. Ever.”

  Krin sighed, but refused to give up. Ever since being enslaved as a child, he had never been comfortable with being confined, and as his situation slowly took root in his mind, he found himself liking his prospects less and less.

  He glanced up at the door. The minimal star light outside bled through the cracks, emitting a soft blue halo along the roof of the prison mound. According to his best guess, the exit was nearly three stories high. Without saying a word, Krin stood, and began feeling the cell walls with his hands. They seemed to be composed of moist dirt, made hard over time to a smooth, seamless surface. There were no viable foot or handholds that he could discover from his cursory search.

  “Finleara” The girl broke the uncomfortable silence. "That is my name. Finleara.”

  He gave a curt nod at this, then continued his tactile search along the prison wall, feeling for any possible means of escape. However, the more he searched, the more despondent he became.

  Finleara continued. “My apologies for my earlier behavior toward you. It is just that I thought…” She paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I mean to say...I have never encountered another Dhunan’ahki before. At least, not since I was a little girl. Not since I left the Wyndter.”

  Krin paused for a moment, keeping his eyes fixed into the shadows blanketing the wall. “Dhunan’ahki?”

  She hesitated at his question, as if not understanding. “A dark elf, of course. Perhaps, a more literal translation would be ‘night elf’, but that is just not what we are called.” He could hear her move closer. “Only a few of us have ever breached the Divide, so it is extremely rare—if not impossible—to ever see another of our kind. That is why I was so surprised when I saw you in the light of those imps.”

  Krin didn’t like the directio
n the conversation was taking. It was time to focus on the only thing that mattered. Escape. And even with no apparent physical way out of this place, he was very much loathe to try the one way he did know.

  “…that is why stopping your bleeding was so important. The smell of our blood can drive the Nerthani into a feeding frenzy.” Finleara was still talking. Incessantly talking. About Night-Elves or Dark Elves or whatever they were supposed to be called. About monsters. About things Krin no longer wanted any part of. He quickly found himself wishing the elven beauty would go back to giving him the cold shoulder. “She is accustomed to the smell of goblins, dwarves, and even humans. But elves…she has not tasted elf flesh in millennia and I was concerned that…”

  “Be quiet!” Krin shouted, wheeling around to her voice. “Please. Just. Shut. Up.”

  There was a sudden intake of breath, then silence. Krin regretted his outburst, but for the moment, it was necessary. He couldn’t handle another person telling him that he was something else than an average human. Couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility that his entire life had been a lie. That Nicholas had kept something so important from him, for so long. Granted, that was exactly the implications revealed in the old man’s letter. But this? A Dhunan’ahki? A dark elf? The notion transcended the ridiculous.

  Still, despite his growing discomfort over trying to rift, as well as the stress wanting to escape the elf girl's incessant chatter, he had no right to take his frustration out on Finleara. “Look,” he said, trying to sense where she stood in the dark. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like…”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Finleara’s fist flew out of nowhere, and slammed against his jaw. He tumbled backwards, and onto the ground with a startled cry.