“So what do you have planned?” she asked.
Krin scanned ahead, past the decaying tower, but could see no sign of the Romans. It was still much too dark to see well, however had they already arrived at Santhelion, they would have surely made camp…which meant, they would have needed to light enough campfires for keeping the troops warm during the cold night. The fact that there were no tiny flecks of light dotting the landscape, bode well for their venture.
“I figure we would just fly the carpet as close to the Tower as possible,” he said in reply. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”
He felt her head shake back and forth against his back. “No. But I have heard stories of this place. The Tower exists in multiple worlds at the same time. I’m not sure how far its magicks extend. It might include the entire island, which would mean that setting this carpet down might be more problematic than we first thought.”
Krin pondered this for a moment, then a thought struck him. “You have the ability to rift too, right?”
There was a brief pause before she answered. “Yes, but not like you. I must use a Rifting Stone in order to pass between here and the Dhunarheme.”
“Have you ever managed to move to one of the other three realms?”
“Never. I did not even know it possible until my father told me of your encounter with the jinni.”
They flew in silence, as they approached the island; until Krin cleared his throat, and turned the discussion to more pertinent matters. “Tell me. What exactly is this crown thing we’re trying to steal? I mean, I know it has something to do with the separation of the worlds and everything, but I’m not completely clear on what it is.”
“It depends on how you look at it.” He felt her shift to the left, and lean closer to Krin’s ear to speak over the wind. “On the one hand, in a metaphysical sense, the Crown is the Quintessence.”
“Huh?”
He felt the breath of her sigh behind his ear.
“Look, if the Four Worlds are the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water, then the Crown is the quintessential element that binds them together, while at the same time, keeping them perfectly balanced away from each other.”
“Okay.” He regretted even asking the question. He no more understood it after her explanation, than before…so he decided to move on. “And on the other hand?”
“Much simpler to explain. In reality, the Crown is nothing more than a pair of deer antlers.”
“Antlers? You mean we’re going to all this trouble for a trophy a hunter might mount on his wall?”
“These are no mere antlers though. They are said to have belonged to the Great White Doe, Nandur. Legend has it that she, and her mate, Blitzkryl, were the oldest living beings in creation. They had, at one time, been denizens of Eden, before the Fall of Man. Once the Garden was sealed, the two supposedly roamed the lands, keeping watch over the Four Worlds.”
“Wait, this was before the Great Divide?”
“Yes. The Four Worlds have always existed. The Divide merely exiled our people into the world my father calls Wyndter…the Dhunarheme. But it existed long before then. No one knows for sure why, or how it works, but my father believes the separate worlds, occupying the same space, yet out of phase with one another, helps maintain the balance of the cosmos.
“Nandur and Blitzkryl were known as the Wardens of the Divide, and apparently could come and go at will—much like you—to any of the worlds they chose.”
“So what happened to them? I’m assuming that since this crown thing is actually Nandur’s antlers, she’s dead, right?”
He felt her shrug against his back. “No one knows for sure. It is certain that Nandur is indeed dead, but since she was supposed to be immortal, no one knows how it happened. Nor does anyone know what befell her mate, Blitzkryl. All that is known is that something horrid happened just after the Great Divide, and that Nandur was killed. It is said that someone—no one knows who—moved her remains to the upper tier of the Tower of Santhelion. Blitzkryl disappeared soon after, and was lost from history. Centuries later, stories began to surface of a vile monster that hoarded her Crown like a miserly dragon protecting its treasure. Few people have seen the creature and survived to tell the tale. The handful that have…well, I can tell you, they would have been much better off had the monster just killed them.”
Krin thought about that, as he slowed the carpet to a slow crawl. The Tower now loomed only about five miles away now. He could see the rapid flow of the Mindere River winding its way around the tiny island where the tower nestled amid a decaying forest of dead trees.
Now closer, he studied the leaning structure. They were still too far to appreciate very many details, but it appeared to stand at least nine stories tall. Its cracked stone walls were indeed covered by thick ropes of ivy that seemed to have the building in a tight stranglehold.
“Are you sure the Tower is…” He tried to find the best description based on what he had been told of its nature. “…as intangible as Calibus says? Looks pretty solid to me.”
“It would,” she replied. “From the various reports we have collected through the years, we know the exterior of the Tower is indeed solid. However, the same people I mentioned before, the few who survived their encounters with the N’ahk, have all shared the exactly same experience: once they enter the building, the laws of nature cease to be. Their perception of the world is turned inside out, and they all have seen visions that could only exist in the three other worlds. If the creature who resides inside had not allowed them to leave, none would ever escape.” Gripping Krin tighter around the waist, she peered over his shoulder at Santhelion, and shuddered. “Getting inside the Tower is simple enough. The impossible task is making one’s way to the observatory where the Crown is said to be kept. Then getting away again.”
Krin studied the domed roof of the Tower, then craned his head back to look at Finleara. A cocky grin spread across his face, before pointing to a large slit cut into the dome that had been used for easy access to the stars. The slit looked to be about twelve feet long, and five wide.
“Maybe nobody’s ever made it to the Crown because no one has ever had what we do? Why walk when we can fly?”
“I am not certain it will be that easy.”
“Oh, you worry too much!” he shouted. “Watch, and be amazed!” With that, he eased the carpet into a curving angle that put them on a direct course for the observatory. They passed over the Mindere with ease, then skimmed the lifeless forest, before swooping up toward the observation window. Once he judged the angle to be just right, he leveled the carpet, then dove. They passed the slit with ease, eliciting an excited shout from Krin, and then…
Krin blinked. They were once more about five miles north of the Tower. The spindly vines clinging to the structure’s edifice were exactly the same as when he had last seen it from this distance.
“What the heck happened?”
“It was the Tower,” Finleara shouted to be heard over the wind. “As I told you, I do not think it will let us in as easily as you hoped.”
He wasn’t certain, but he thought he detected a trace of smug satisfaction in her explanation.
“Oh, really? Well, we’ll just see about that.”
Once more, Krin eked out more speed from the carpet, and veered directly toward the observatory. They slipped freely past the opening, and once again found themselves immediately five miles north of the island.
“Argh!” Krin shouted in frustration. “That’s just ridiculous!”
More determined than ever, he tried for the aperture a third time, only to be expelled to the exact same point as before.
“It will not let us enter this way,” Finleara said. “We will need to try a different approach.”
Krin gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to give up that easily.”
This time, he brought the carpet up above a low layer of clouds, skimming them until he was directly above the Tower.
“This will not
work,” Finleara said. “Why do you persist in this nonsense?”
He halted the carpet until they hovered directly over the observation window, then turned and scowled at her. “Because, I’m not going to let some inanimate pile of rubble tell me where I can and can’t go, that’s why. We need to get in there. This is the easiest way in. Plain and simple.”
“Apparently not,” she said. “You are just being stubborn. And stupid. Look, I know another way in. Just let me…”
“Uh-uh. This will work,” he said, gripping the golden bell tight until it bit into his hand. “It will.” He then looked sheepishly at her, and pointed to the carpet. “You might want to resume your previous position. Um, and you might want to hold onto something.”
“Wh-what…?”
Without waiting to explain, Krin felt ‘down’, and the carpet—with the two of them clinging to it for dear life—dropped like a stone.
THIRTY-SIX
The wind rushed up, whipping Krin’s cloak past his head, as they plunged toward the opening.
“What are you doing?” Finleara cried. “You will kill us both!”
He paid her no heed, but instead, focused his will on the narrow crack within the dome that would allow him entrance into the infernal Tower. He refused to allow the dilapidated building get the best of him. He would deny the rotted, skeletal ruin jutting up from the earth, victory over him.
Carefully, he maneuvered the falling carpet ever so slightly to the right. Then the left. Adjusting their trajectory inch by inch until he was certain they had a clear shot.
Five, he counted mentally. Four. Three. Two. They dropped past the stone lip of the opening, and raced toward the observatory’s floor. He could make out a wide, round room. A circle of lit candles adorned the floor; their shadows dancing into the recesses of the chamber to partially illuminate piles of something dried, cracked, and pale brown and yellow. But he didn’t have time to make out exactly what the piles were. Instead, he squeezed the bell tight in his hand, and concentrated on feeling ‘stop’.
Immediately, the carpet ground to a halt, and so did the world around him. Flashes of heat, flame, and molten magma exploded before his eyes, followed immediately by mind-numbing expanse of nothing but ocean waves crashing down upon itself in a violent ballet of tidal fury. He blinked, and suddenly the air around him chilled, and he found himself surrounded by a plateau of blue-white ice. Then, he was a league and a half north of the Tower once more, and slowly drifting to a patch of emerald green grass dotted here and there with snow.
“Blast it!” Krin shouted as the carpet settled itself easily upon the turf.
Without warning, Finleara shot up from her seat, grabbed Krin by the bronze brooch holding his cloak in place, and hurled him off the carpet and onto the ground. “If you ever do something as daft again, I very well better not be within three leagues of you!” she shouted, drawing her sword, and pointing its tip at his throat. “If you ever put me in such reckless, and unnecessary danger again, I swear, I will…” She let the thought trail off, as she breathed in deep.
Krin held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I thought that would work.”
“And I told you it would not. You need to start listening to me. I know more about this world than you.”
The blade gleamed as the first rays of the sun crested over the eastern sky. Krin’s throat dried at the sight of it, making it difficult to swallow. Once he did, he slowly clambered to his feet again, and bowed. “Please forgive me. You’re right. It was reckless, and stupid, and I’ll never do anything like that ever again.” After a split-second of consideration, he thought better of it, and added, “At least, not while you’re around.”
Still brandishing the sword at him, she nodded. “Fair enough.” She then sheathed her blade, and turned toward the south. “Now that you have seen the Tower, tell me…do you think yourself capable of rifting over to it from here?”
Krin looked toward the island, but the only thing he could currently see was a thin grouping of dead trees lining the river bank. His view of Santhelion was completely blocked by the decaying woods.
“I would be afraid to try,” he said. “I honestly wasn’t paying much attention to the Tower when we flew by. Without a firmer picture of it in my head, I’m concerned we would end up in Egypt. Or someplace much worse.” From his vantage point, he could hear the rush of the rapids beyond the woods. “Why can’t we just cross the river? The water looked a little rough, but it didn’t look to be much of a distance to the other side.”
“That would be most unwise,” she said. “The river is home to the Mindera. Water nymphs.”
Krin raised a brow. He remembered the stories of the Mindera the Magi Guard had told him as they traveled to Madagus Keep. Even with all the strange things he had seen in recent weeks, it was still difficult to accept the reality of nymphs. So far, the creatures he had encountered—with the exception of the jinn—had been very solid. Biological. Nymphs, from what he understood, were spirit-like creatures composed mostly of water. “You mean your men and Garhet weren’t just spinning tall tales with me? They really do exist?”
“They do indeed. As you were told already, the Mindera are one of the few Dhuna peoples that still remain within the Thanaheim. They enjoy luring unwary people into their waters where they are capable of stripping the flesh off a full grown human in less than a few minutes.”
Krin didn’t know Finleara as well as he would have liked, but he knew her enough to know she rarely—if ever—joked. He had no reason to doubt her word on this. “Yeah, okay. We should definitely try to find a way across without having to mess with them.”
“Fortunately, I know such a way,” she said. “Magus Reganus’ specialty was rare antiquities. Years ago, he took a group of dwarves to Santhelion to study the structure. While they were here, they stumbled upon an old dwarven cairn that burrowed beneath the river. If it hasn’t collapsed, it should take us right to the base of the Tower.”
“A cairn? You mean…as in where the dead are buried?”
She nodded, giving no indication she detected Krin’s apprehension. “Normally, in Thana Pel, funerary cairns lay atop the ground as mounds, or mogs, as the dwarves call them. This one was unique, and had intrigued Reganus a great deal because of its subterranean characteristics. Even more interesting, though the cairn was most definitely constructed by dwarven hands, there were all manner of races buried there…many of whom pre-date the Great Divide.”
“B-but the dead.”
“Oh, do not worry. Reganus reported the cairn to be relatively safe. During their expedition, they encountered nothing more dangerous than structural decay. The few traps that had been erected disintegrated ages ago.”
“So the place may fall on our heads, but at least we don’t have to worry about booby traps. Great.”
“It is a better plan than dropping straight down one hundred feet into the mouth of a cursed observatory, would you not say?”
Krin had to admit, she had a point.
“Alright. Then lead the way, Captain.” He pulled a strand of rope from a pack he wore over his shoulder, tied each end of the rolled carpet then slung it over his back. “I’m right behind you.”
The two stalked through the small patch of trees, cutting their way past the thorny underbrush whenever it became too dense. As they moved, Krin got the uneasy feeling of being watched. He glanced around, but even as the sun continued to rise above the horizon, he saw nothing to substantiate his apprehension. At one point, he thought he saw the slightest glimpse of a feline eye, peering at him through the bramble, but when he blinked to clear his dry vision, it was gone.
“I don’t think we’re alone in here,” Krin whispered, tightening his grip on Glalbrirer’s hilt.
The elf girl halted, cocked her head to one side, then sniffed the air. “It is the Cra'chuna.”
“Those huge cats that attacked Garhet and Ulfilas along Ra’ethana Pass?” Krin’s hearted thudded against his chest at the n
ews.
She nodded. “They have been stalking us since we landed,” she said.
“How is that possible? How did they know we would even be coming this way?” He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. “Surely, it’s no coincidence.”
Unperturbed, Finleara kept moving forward, swinging her blade against a particular nasty twist of thorns. “There is no such thing as coincidence. I do not know how they found us so easily, but the fact is, they have. We must be on our guard until we reach the hidden cairn. They will not follow us in there.”
Krin’s pulse continued to race as he recalled, Garhet's telling of the tale of his battle with the giant cats when he had been searching for Krin in the goblin settlement. They seemed quite monstrous in according to the dwarf. Although Krin was quite certain he had embellished the story. However, in the case of the Cra'chuna, and based on solemnity which his friend had employed in recounting the history, he was willing to bet, very little of it had been exaggerated.
The cats’ presence along the banks of the Mindere River simply helped to reinforce Krin’s skepticism regarding his role in this little adventure he had been set upon.
Garhet, Ulfilas, and Finleara were all warriors. They had fought battles. Killed. Performed heroic acts much of their lives. And the greatest accomplishment of his brief seventeen years? The great goat-shearing caper of the Alexandrian Merchants’ Guild? He knew nothing about quests or battles, much less regarding heroics–of any kind. His involvement was simply an accident of heredity.
Heredity. The word brought him to an abrupt halt along the path, as thoughts of his father flashed through his mind. He remembered his promise to honor his father's memory on this adventure. It was time to stop the whining…stop the worrying, and just do what needed to be done. Krin didn't think he was the best choice for a hero that the Magi could have found, but apparently, he was their only one. And if Nicholas was to be believed, he had been chosen for this task by a power…a creative mind beyond his wildest imagination.
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 27