The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur

by J. Kent Holloway

“Why is it distressing? The place doesn’t look as though it’s been inhabited for centuries.”

  “Oh, but it has,” Calibus said. “It is the home of one of the most dangerous, and mysterious creatures in the entire cosmos. A twisted, ghastly creature the dwarves have dubbed the N’ahk—or in your language, the Darkness.”

  “So this new Sair’n Kryl is after the N’ahk? Is that it?”

  The Magus Prime shook his head. “If only that was his goal, we would have very little to fear. For the N’ahk can be tamed or enslaved by no man. No magus. And certainly not by a nephil like the Krampus. No, the real problem is what the N’ahk is guarding. What he has been protecting for nearly two thousand years.”

  “The Crown of Nandur,” Nicholas said solemnly. “The key to unlocking a self-contained, stable Rift, large enough to march an entire army of dark elves, trolls, imps, and all manner of Fae creature through…even without the use of the Madagus Keep Stone.”

  “It's never been a factor of concern for us before,” Calibus said. “Never in a million calculations would we have ever conceived that someone would try to go after the Crown, but seeing that army marching toward the Tower now…there can be no doubt.”

  “Why had the possibility never come to mind before?” Krin asked. “If the Crown was so powerful, why hasn’t the Council attempted to take it, and place it here within the Vault?”

  “Because, my boy, it’s impossible to get to.”

  Krin had never seen Nicholas look more serious—more sober—in his entire life.

  “The N’ahk is similar to you, and your father. Like the both of you, the creature is able to rift—and so much more. He can go anywhere…to any place… to any time, he wishes. We believe that he’s been doing so for so long, that his physical form no longer inhabits a single place at any one time. More than rifting between Worlds, he literally occupies all four Worlds simultaneously.

  “What’s more, his essence has become so intertwined with that of Santhelion Tower, that the structure inhabits the four worlds simultaneously as well. Because of that it is never stable long enough in anyone from any of the World to enter, without the intruder instantly being torn to pieces.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing then, right?” Krin glanced down into the pool again, and watched the Roman legion marching ever closer to the island. “Surely, this Sair’n Kryl person knows this. There’s no way for them to get to the Crown if they can’t actually enter the place in which it’s kept, right?”

  “That’s the problem, Krin,” Calibus sighed. “If whoever is impersonating the Dragon Lord knows the Tower is impenetrable, then why go there? Our fear that either he, or the Krampus, has discovered a way inside…and that can only mean one thing.”

  “He’s found a new rifter. One just like you, who can rift without need of Rifting Stones because, to our knowledge anyway, no such monoliths exist within the Tower’s walls,” Nicholas explained. “If he has such a person, then the Crown of Nandur is in grave danger of being taken…at least, if the enemy’s agent can get past the N’ahk.”

  “And that brings us to why we need you so desperately, Krin.” The Magus Prime stepped toward him, a gentle hand stretching out to clap him on the shoulder. “You are absolutely right. The Crown would be safer within our Vault. We would like you to get there first, enter the Tower of Santhelion, and steal it before Sair’n Kryl’s man can do it.”

  A lump rose in Krin’s throat, threatening to stifle his ability to breathe. Breaking into a bakery for a schoolboy prank was one thing. He had done it countless times in the past. But infiltrating a magical tower protected by a monster so heinous it was dubbed ‘The Darkness’, all to steal a relic before a band of murderous Romans could was something beyond the imaginable.

  Suddenly, Krin turned to Nicholas. “And you’re alright with him asking me to do this?”

  The old man shrugged. “How can I be alright with any plan that puts my son in danger?” he asked. “How can I be fine with a quest that will ask you to commit theft…to outwardly sin against God? No, I’m not alright with this. But as much as I’ve tried, I can see no other recourse. I’m truly at a loss this time.”

  Krin’s face flushed. “You’re the one who is constantly having your little chats with God, aren’t you? The one who’s become a laughing stock in Lycia, all because God won’t give you a moment’s peace, without cracking a joke here, or telling you some humorous anecdote there.” Years of humiliation, anger, and hurt all came rushing out at once. “So where is your God now? Why isn’t he doing something to help? All of a sudden, he’s gone all quiet now, hasn't he? What kind of a God abandons those who love him so much at their time of need? Huh?”

  The two Magi stared at him patiently as he finished his diatribe. Neither appeared surprised by the outburst, and Nicholas didn’t seem hurt in the slightest. Instead, he just looked at Krin with deep, sad eyes, and shook his head. “Dear sweet boy, don’t you see? He’s not abandoned us at all.” The old man’s eyes glistened as he smiled broadly at him. “He’s sent us you…the joy of my earthly life.”

  Krin was stunned at the response. A boy who had refused to take a single thing in life seriously. Who had shirked almost every responsibility that was given to him for a chance to have a little fun. Time and again, he had let this dear sweet man down, and every time, the old man had wrapped his arms around him, and loved him anyway. And now, it seemed, Nicholas was telling him the very same thing about God. Despite all Krin’s misgivings—his mocking and ridicule—God had apparently chosen him specifically for a task that could either destroy or save four worlds.

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at this. The very thought of it terrified him at his very core. After all, he was a nobody. A child pretending to be a man. The stakes were higher than anything he could possibly imagine, so why on earth would the God of the universe choose him for such an impossible task.

  As if reading his thoughts, Calibus stepped forward, and joined in Nicholas’ smile. “He has chosen you, dear Krin, precisely because you are just a regular person. Your ambitions, skewed as they might be, are minimal. You’re compassionate. Humble. And your heart is filled with a great deal of love—all building blocks, perfect for a Champion of the Divine. Though I have no idea of the final outcome, I do know this…you will do the very best in this endeavor that you can, and Christ will see you through. Of this, I have no doubt. You shouldn’t either.”

  Krin stared back into the water, willing the scene to shift back to the mines of Sair’n Nanlech. Once the swirl subsided, he was greeted by the image of hundreds of beleaguered dwarves, hunched over great burdens of rock and soil, churning away the debris, and moving ever closer to the Dragon’s Spine burial ground. Roman whips cracked. Sometimes overhead, sometimes against blood-encrusted backs. Garhet’s people. Broken. Enslaved. And the two Magi were telling him he had the power to do something to end this.

  His fists clenched tight, as a wave of heat flashed up his neck. He turned to Nicholas, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it. But how do you propose I get to this Santhelion place before the Romans do?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  They gathered in a small, unassuming chapel in the back quarter of the Keep, where Calibus had assured them, they would have the best chance of remaining undisturbed—and more importantly, not overheard. Garhet and Finleara, along with three other dwarves had joined Krin, Nicholas, and the Magus Prime for this clandestine strategy session. A meager repast of dried meats, roasted fowl, bread, and fruit had been set out, and the company ate in contemplative solemnity.

  While they ate, Krin was informed that Ulfilas was still recovering from the wounds he had sustained from the jinni, and would be unable to be much assistance in the coming days. Garhet, happy to see the lad up and about, had filled him in on the giant’s recuperation in great detail. He had apparently not only sustained several broken bones—a handful of ribs, a femur, and his ulna—but also had been gored by the beastly jinni. In addition, he had been close enough to
the heat expelled from Krin’s banishment of the jinni, that he had suffered severe burns to much of his body. Thankfully, the same healing hands that had taken such great care of Krin, had also been looking after the bounty hunter as well, and he was expected to make a full recovery in another few weeks.

  “The brute is strong, that’s fer sure,” Garhet said, chomping down on one of the largest apples Krin had ever seen, before replacing it immediately with a goose leg, and tearing the flesh away with candy-stained teeth. “Not many men could have survived those kind of injuries—even bein’ doctored by a magus of Quinton’s skill.”

  After several minutes of the much needed repast, Calibus cleared his throat, and called the meeting to order.

  “Gentlemen...” He paused and nodded to Finleara. “And my Lady. You’ve each been apprised of the situation. You know what is at stake. We are on the precipice of perhaps the greatest threat to have ever fallen on mankind—and dwarf-kind—alike. At least since the Great Divide.

  “Because of the sheer magnitude of this threat, I believe our best option is to attack on two different fronts. The primary mission will be handled by young Krin here, and my daughter, Finleara, as they travel to the great Tower of Santhelion to retrieve the Crown of Nandur before Sair’n Kryl’s Romans. The second front will be comprised of a contingent of Magi Guard, a brigade of Behk’n Lorent’s dwarves, and the entire force of the Magi Order as we travel to Sair’n Nanlech to prevent the dragon bones from being exposed.”

  “And to free my people,” said one of the dwarves, already wearing a complete suit of gleaming armor. Krin recognized him from the brief encounter within the Council chambers a few weeks before. The chieftain, Behk’n Lorent.

  “Absolutely, Lord Behk’n,” Calibus said, with a slight bow of apology at the oversight.

  “Wait just a second,” Garhet growled. He looked at the chieftain and offered his own silent apology, before continuing. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, but with Krin. He’s my charge. Where he goes, I go.”

  “That’s not going to be possible, Master Bliix,” Calibus said. “Krin and Finleara will need to move swiftly, silently. Besides, the method by which Krin and Finleara will be traveling might not be suitable for a…”

  “I’m going, and that’s final.” He looked over at Krin. “Something you may not know, lad, but I owe your father a life debt. Heck, he wouldn’t even be aware of it himself—God rest his soul—but saved my life. Saved my clan from slavery under that gutter-weed, Sair’n Kryl. If not for Kraen-Lil, I would be dead. Or worse, my soul would be crushed to a shell of dwarf. Because of that, I will fight by your side ‘til the end, and ain’t no one goin’ to try and stop me either.”

  The dwarf, the chieftain, and the Magus Prime went back and forth, arguing about the greater good, loyalty, and life debts, but Krin heard none of it. His mind was fixed solely on the revelation that his father had been the one to save Garhet and his clan from slavery. His father had killed the real Sair’n Kryl. He had saved the lives of untold numbers of people—both human and dwarf. He had risked everything to do what was right. A true hero. His father, who he had always just assumed had been some two-bit nobody for all these years, had truly been a great man. Even the goblin queen, Tuhg, had seemed to have a reverent fear of the man’s name. He clearly had been a man who inspired many. A man many aspired to be. How could he possibly measure up to such a legacy? And would he ruin his father’s memory should he fail in the task set before him? He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing at that very moment…he would do all he could to honor the good will his father’s name invoked.

  And that meant as much as he would prefer to have the dwarf at his side in the most terrifying chapter of his life, he knew the better use for him would be in the fields of battle near Sair’n Nanlech.

  “…and I’m tellin’ ye, I ain’t goin’ anywhere without Krin!” Garhet was saying when Krin turned his attention once more to the debate.

  “But Master Dwarf, be reasonable,” Calibus said.

  “I’ve rifted before. I can sure as heck rift again. Though I don’t much like it, it won’t kill me.”

  “Lord Behk’n can’t you reason with him?”

  As the dwarf chieftain stepped forward to speak, Krin held up his hands, and interrupted the discussion. “Garhet, my friend, I truly appreciate your loyalty. I really do,” he said, crouching down on one knee to look the dwarf in his good eye. “I would rather have you at my side than an entire Roman Legion; but the Magus Prime is right. At this moment, you’re needed in the fight to save your people…”

  “As far as I’m concerned, they ain’t my clan, you are!”

  “But they are your people,” Krin said, his own voice catching at Garhet’s declaration of kinship with him. “You’ve already told me how fragile your race is…how close to the brink of extinction you are. Can you look me in the eye, and truly say you shouldn’t do what you can to save them because they’re not your own clan? My father wasn’t even of the same race, yet he risked his life to save yours. Could you honestly say that it wouldn’t bother you to turn your back on your kinsmen in their time of need?”

  The rugged old dwarf opened his mouth to protest, then closed it and his eye simultaneously. He shook his head. A single tear ran down his scarred cheek. “No… put that way, yer absolutely right. I don’t like it much, but yer right. I can’t turn my back on ‘em.”

  Krin smiled at his friend, then turned to the others. “Good. Then it’s settled. Now all we have to do is figure out exactly how Leara and I are supposed to get to Santhelion ahead of the Romans, and we can get on with—”

  “Yer a good lad, ye know that?” Without warning, the choked-up dwarf lunged at Krin, wrapping his thick arms around him in a powerful bear hug. The movement jostled Krin, and he stumbled backward, but managed to catch himself before falling over, but not before the small golden bell Krin had put in his waistcoat pocket tumbled to the floor with a jingle. Once the dwarf released him, the red-faced Krin bent down, and scooped the bell up, shook it twice, then re-pocketed it.

  “Thanks Garhet,” he said, still blushing from his friend’s outburst. “Do your race proud.” He glanced over at Behk’n Lorent as he said the words. “You’re truly a good friend. But we need to get back on track. As I was saying, can anyone suggest how exactly we get to this N’ahk thing’s tower?”

  Calibus stepped forward. “Well, we assumed you would simply rift there actually. That was my plan anyway.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Father,” Finleara spoke up. “As you’ve instructed me, I’d rather be nowhere near a rift opening if at all possible. To do so might draw the Winterking’s attention. I refuse to return to that place, and if he finds me, it would certainly mean my death.”

  So that’s why she’d been so adamant about me not rifting us out of the goblin pit, Krin thought. She was afraid of attracting the Krampus. Honestly, he had to agree with her sentiment, if not for the same reasons. “I’d also like to point out that I haven’t exactly mastered this whole ‘rifting’ thing at all,” he added. “And I’ve never been able to move to any place I didn’t already have an intimate knowledge of.”

  “But you rifted into the council chamber,” Calibus protested.

  “Yes, but I was also within close proximity of it too. I don’t think I have to know the exact place, just a general idea of its location. I’ve never been to Santhelion. Yes, I managed a glimpse of it with the scrying pool, but it’s not the same thing. I have no sense of the place. The lay of the land. I’m not sure I’d be able to get us there even if I wanted to.” He paused to consider his next words carefully. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not inadvertently rift myself into the ocean depths or a volcano, by assuming I can do this.”

  The Magus Prime frowned; it wasn’t out of anger or irritation, but more out of perplexity. “Valid points by both of you.” He looked over Finleara. “But you, daughter, need to understand. This mission will require you to rift with Krin.
As troubling as it may be…for the both of us…it is a risk we will need to take. Though I’m certain in the lad’s capabilities, I’m not sure he’d be able to confront the N’ahk alone. That is your primary objective. To keep the creature away from Krin long enough for him to steal the Crown. So you see, you will have to follow the boy through the rift if this mission is to succeed.” He then turned to Krin. “As for your concerns, that, I have no easy response to. It would easily take a day and a half to get there on horseback. That’s time, we simply do not have to waste. At the same time, if you’re unable to rift to an unknown location, then I’m just not sure what…”

  “Whoa!” Krin cried out, as something shifted under his feet, nearly tipping him over. If he hadn't grabbed hold of the long plumage adorning Garhet’s helmet, he would have upended, and landed awkwardly on his rear. Now, having regained his balance, he looked down but saw only a well-worn Persian rug he was standing on; not a wrinkle or fold that could have tripped him up.

  “Are you alright, lad,” Garhet asked, readjusting his helmet after Krin’s impromptu grab.

  He looked around to see the entire room staring at him. Blushing, he shrugged. “Just clumsy, I guess.” He looked over at Calibus. “My apologies, Magus Prime. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  The aged magus smiled, waving it off with a gesture. “Completely understandable, my boy. We’re all a bit jittery at the moment, so I can…”

  Calibus continued to accept the apology in an overwhelming display of gracious benevolence, but Krin blocked it out. Instead, he turned his mind to the strange incident, and what had caused it. By nature, he had never been clumsy a day in his life.

  So what was it? He looked down at his feet again, at the filthy old rag of a carpet, at his leather boots, laced up to his knees. He glanced around the room, eyeing the shadowy nooks and crannies, half-expecting to see the tell-tale glow of three little imps, laughing merrily at their latest prank. He had not seen hide-nor-hair of any of them since the encounter with the jinn in the Keep’s garden, and he wondered if they were still around. If they were injured, or worse, dead. Despite the irritations they had caused him since that fateful day falling from Nicholas’ flue, they had managed to save his hide on more than one occasion; he found himself truly concerned for their welfare. But the cursory glance around the room revealed no sign of them. Just a singular incident. Nothing to be worried about at all.