“I see no reason to limit one’s speech. Don’t you find it liberating to fully express yourself at your leisure, without concern for self-imposed boundaries on your means of expression? Better too much said than not enough, that’s my view on the subject. Speak and speak more, as silence is an abhorrent abyss lacking thought and reason!”
At the end of this diatribe, Yeel found himself talking to two slumped bodies. The shadow being snarled. It fixed its eyes of green flame onto Yeel for a moment, then began to fade. The eyes sank toward the ground as the shadow body evaporated, guttering then disappearing as they struck the ground.
A loud snore erupted from Jymoor. His sleeping formula had worked rapidly, rendering the nearby mammalians helpless.
“I’ve beaten you this time, Faverhind,” Yeel said. “So very different from last time…so ends my imprisonment…and yours begins.”
***
Jymoor stirred, opening her eyes ever so slightly. Bright sunlight poured past her lids. It must be the middle of the day, she thought.
“Erm. Hmm,” she mumbled.
“You return to consciousness! Excellent! Perhaps our journey may now resume? I estimate a high probability that it may!”
“Lord Yeel! What happened?”
“I apologize, my friend,” Yeel soothed the scout. “I was forced to release an anesthetic gas in order to control the situation. I’m afraid that you were overcome by the fumes. This was unfortunate but I felt that the need overrode the slight chance that any permanent damage might have been rendered to your person.”
“Ah, what?” fumbled Jymoor. A yawn escaped her.
“I had to put you to sleep. I apologize for that, but it was for the best, I assure you.”
“Oh,” Jymoor said. “Where’s Faverhind?”
“Faverhind? Where is he? Ah, a natural question. You do have a sharp memory, don’t you? I felt sure you didn’t have time to remember him. He’s no longer here. I removed him from the area, placed him in holding, a neutral place of stasis where he can no longer offer danger to anyone.”
“You used your magic to transport him away from here?”
“Well actually it was a matter of…hmm.” Yeel’s brows knitted for a second and then a smile broke across the thin face. “Yes, it was magic; actually, now that I think about it, magic is exactly the method I employed. Raw mystical power, of which I command a weighty amount on a daily basis. You guessed it exactly.”
“Is he…dead?”
“Well in some senses of the word,” Yeel said. “Dead to many…dead to most. The universe still remembers him, as do we. Dead and yet alive, as it were; the simple black and white of these terms merges into ambiguity under circumstances such as this, so I must say that I cannot express myself any more clearly in this very special and restricted case. So you see, you have it exactly, my friend.”
“Uh…yes, my lord,” Jymoor said. Jymoor had been struggling to understand everything, but she found that most of the time Yeel’s meaning eluded her. Was the mighty wizard purposefully being vague, or did he simply work in spheres so complex that Jymoor couldn’t follow his most basic thoughts?
“There’s no problem, I assure you,” Yeel said. He took another breath to continue speaking, but Jymoor jumped in, fearing another lengthy repetition of the sentiment.
“Who was he?” Jymoor asked. “If I may be so bold as to inquire, my lord? You seemed to know him well, despite your…selective memorization habits.”
“He was no one. Inconsequential. Irrelevant. A mere brigand. A passerby of ill intent.”
Jymoor’s eyebrows jumped. She turned away from Yeel and kept moving down the trail. That had certainly been someone of import…Yeel had addressed him as being of some group or order. The Meridalae. “Of the Meridalae?” Jymoor said. She bit her tongue. If Yeel felt that she was questioning his word…
“Oh, well, yes. The Meridalae. Uncanny how you remember these things so perfectly. Simply a group of criminals. Think nothing more of it, my friend.”
Jymoor’s eyebrows rose again. For once she had stumbled upon a subject that the loquacious Yeel didn’t want to talk about at length. Jymoor stifled another yawn and pried herself up from the stony ground. She felt around her body to make sure that she still possessed her travel pack, filled with food, and her meager pouch of copper and silver.
“Yes, we may resume our journey, my lord,” Jymoor said. She took a few unsteady steps, feeling the strength slowly returning to her legs.
“That would be a fine way to proceed, but I have a superior option. Surely we can delay our departure by a few more scant minutes. You see, I had hoped to avoid Faverhind as I thought him to be a more formidable opponent than he turned out to be this time. Thanks to a couple of firkir serpents, it seems. In any case, now that he’s been dealt with, there is the matter of his lair in this very aerie behind us. I think that a raid is in order.”
“If you think it wise, my lord. Which way is the lair?”
“We shall reverse our roles. You, to that of follower, and I, to that of the guide. Accompany me, if you will.”
Yeel moved sharply to the left and down into a rocky cleft. Jymoor hesitated, peering ahead. It looked as if the divide emptied straight down toward the ocean, and she feared the way might be dangerous. As she took a few more steps after Yeel, however, she saw that a ledge had been formed along the side of the rocky hillock that led to the amazing palace above.
The two moved along the trail for several minutes. The sound of the ocean crashed in every few moments, reminding Jymoor of her proximity to the waves. The rock felt slimy, as if covered with the secretions of unknown sea creatures. Yeel came to the end of the ledge, a spot where he could see out over the sharp rocks and the sea below.
“It is here,” Yeel said, pointing a thin hand toward a recessed hollow in the cliffside. Jymoor stepped into the niche, shielding her eyes from the sun. She saw a weathered wooden door set into the rock, hidden by the shadow cast from the overhang. The scout tried to peer in through a knothole but her eyes were used to the bright sunlight behind.
“I will gain entrance, if you would kindly step back,” Yeel said.
Jymoor heeded Yeel’s wishes, stepping away from the door. The man stepped forward and produced a weapon from his belt. Jymoor saw three silver balls attached by cord to a handle in Yeel’s hand. Yeel began to spin the orbs with great speed, until Jymoor could barely follow them and then the door erupted into fragments of shattered wood. Jymoor hadn’t even seen the strike.
“I continue to underestimate you,” Jymoor said. “I had finally come to understand your immense mystical powers, but I had no idea that you possessed such physical prowess.”
“Oh…I apologize if I have misled you, my friend. It is simply the power of my weapon that allows me to deliver such blows. The malinthander lends a strong mechanical advantage.”
Jymoor gave no answer. She found it hard to believe that anyone could spin the weapon so fast, but she didn’t dare contradict Yeel. They turned to the entrance, and Yeel led the way in.
The scout felt an underlying sense of unease at her first step into the lair. Several black tables squatted under a low stone ceiling, supporting a vast array of arcane paraphernalia. A chill fog swirled at her feet. Jymoor decided the chamber embodied evil doings and dire intent as surely as Yeel’s palace displayed elegance and sophistication.
“Is there danger here?” Jymoor whispered.
“Yes. Most certainly. Why at any moment an earthquake could render this place—”
“I meant something more immediate or…inevitable. Faverhind was of this Meridalae…are there others of that sect here now?”
Yeel shook his head. “Them…no. Faverhind would never let such dangerous acquaintances stay at his home without being around to watch them. They would have engaged us at the same time as he did.”
The conversation failed to distract Jymoor from the fear she felt. She scanned the room again, looking for threats. The items stacked on the ta
bles included ornate totems carved with spiraling, many legged creatures, the flat skulls of humanoids, and black pots with rotten corks oozing fluids of various colors and consistencies.
She stepped closer to the first table, avoiding coming into contact with anything. In the center of the dark wood platform movement caught her eye. A live snake had been woven through hoops in a metal chest, holding it shut. At first Jymoor thought it a single red and black serpent, but as she stared she realized that actually a red snake engulfed the tail of a black snake, and vice versa. The pair formed a long twisted ring that held the chest sealed. As Jymoor watched the black one gave an angry hiss and writhed, attempting to advance its grip on its adversary.
“Seven sons!” she whispered, stepping back.
Yeel scanned the table and spotted the source of Jymoor’s reaction. “You spoke of dangers. Is this one immediate enough to qualify? I believe that the red one is armed with substances toxic to your kind. The poison holds the breath in your chest. Oh, wait a moment, the black creature is deadly as well! Although it doesn’t affect your breathing, its venom tends to reduce the cohesion of your internal membranes…”
“Oh, Lord Yeel, let’s just stay away from there!”
“Hmm…perhaps…although I must admit to some measure of curiosity. What treasure might be concealed within? A means of opening the container must exist…”
Jymoor stepped around to the side of the room, her legs shaking. As she approached one rough-hewn wall, a barrier of mist fell away to reveal a glowing red space beyond.
“We can get back to this,” Yeel announced. “Let’s at least make a rudimentary scan of the entire place.”
The tall man shuffled toward the newly discovered opening. Jymoor saw that he seemed to be moving with increased difficulty in the mountain niche. Yeel grunted and made a face as he approached the adjoining passage, bending his great height down to negotiate the opening. Jymoor followed him through.
The chamber beyond held five or six sources of throbbing crimson light. As they left the shattered opening to the ocean behind in the last room, these glowing points became the only illumination. They looked like red-hot rubies placed in the irregular stone walls.
Jymoor immediately saw the red light reflected in a complex pattern of shiny spheres embedded in a suit of heavy armor hanging from a rope. This room held shelves of wood and a small but intricate bed against one wall.
“I recognize that armor! It belonged to the Crescent Knight! He left on a quest to the Far Coast looking for you and never came back!”
“He must have run afoul of Faverhind or his harapins,” Yeel said, approaching the armor. “This is an artifact of tremendous value. The workmanship is exquisite, the aura is powerful and multivaried. Pearl and iron, would be my guess. Copious star stone, with lavish runic enhancement. A fine treasure to add to my collection.”
“It is amazing. You collect armor as well?”
“Artifacts. Items of rare excellence in engineering and art. Things of singular beauty, power, or craftsmanship. They are usually specialized items, created to effect one specific purpose very well. What of yourself, Jymoor? Do you have any fancies that we might satiate? There are many things for the taking, felwa root here for instance, a yin converter there hanging on the wall, a pot of diamonds on the table—”
“A pot of diamonds! Really?”
“I jest you not. Right there, the third one over, yes that’s it. Take all you want. Take them all. Do you value them personally or do your people regard them highly as a trade item?”
Jymoor opened her mouth to answer but a noise distracted her. She turned toward a large cabinet of shelves and realized that a man stood just around its edge, trying to flatten himself against its side.
“Who are you?” Jymoor gasped.
“Fear not,” Yeel said, speaking toward Jymoor. “It is I, Yeel, your close associate!”
“Not you Yeel. I’m speaking to that tall man hiding next to the shelves, there.”
The man stepped forward uncertainly. He had a long beard and a strong frame, although he looked as though his diet had been poor. He wore torn and dirty clothing, like that of a common laborer.
“I have no name…I am a servant…of Faverhind.”
“No longer, dear fellow,” Yeel said. “Faverhind has been dealt with…I daresay you are now free, without master, ready to feel the four winds on your face as an independent agent, should it strike your fancy.”
The man seemed shocked by this news, or perhaps by Yeel’s circuitous dialogue.
“How did you come to be here?” Jymoor asked.
The man stared off into space. “I was…here on a quest. I wore the armor…once, they called me the Crescent Knight.”
Jymoor made a small surprised sound. “You’re alive! Of course, as you heard, we thought you dead.”
“Please accept my apologies, sir,” Yeel added. “I will, of course, recognize your ownership of the armor. I will not disturb it further.”
The knight hesitated again. He looked up at the hanging armor, as if remembering. “Once…but it belongs to Master Faverhind, now.”
“Oh no,” Yeel said, “He’s not a problem any longer; you may proceed with your life as you see fit, at your whim—”
“What he means is that Faverhind is dead, or as good as dead,” Jymoor said. “Will you please join us, my lord? We still need you, and Yeel here, to aid us in our battle for survival. I beg you, don your armor again, and return to your home as a hero!”
The knight shuffled nervously. Jymoor examined the tatters of his clothing, and saw the man looked thin and weak. The knight’s eyes were haunted, and told of hardship.
“Perhaps I shall,” he said at last. “If Faverhind is no more…”
“They called you the Crescent Knight since birth?” Yeel asked. “Is your position a hereditary one in your society?”
The man shook his head. “I was born with the name Avorn,” he said.
“It would be rude to refer to him as anything other than the Crescent Knight, or his lordship,” Jymoor jumped in.
“No…I am a man like any other. I will answer to my other name, and take no offense in it.”
“Well then, my Lord Avorn the Crescent Knight, do you happen to know how to open the chest secured by snakes? Or what is inside of it?” Yeel asked.
Avorn walked back into the adjoining room. Yeel moved to observe him. Jymoor snatched up the small pottery cup of diamonds that Yeel had mentioned and went after them. The knight came to the black table that held the snake-secured chest.
“Salvas tiam gettamrat,” the knight muttered. The entwined serpents immediately released their jaws and slithered free of each other. They slid gracefully onto the top of the chest and lay still.
“How did you do that?” Jymoor asked.
“He learned Faverhind’s keywords,” Yeel answered for the knight. “And what is inside?” he asked of the sullen ex-prisoner.
“He keeps the things that he has taken from all those who have come seeking you over the years. Including my sword, I believe,” Avorn answered.
“Then you shall get it back,” Yeel said. He reached forward and flipped the lid open. Jymoor almost yelled out, fearful of the snakes. But they slid lazily over the table, content to stay near the chest, and they didn’t make any efforts to attack.
Yeel produced an odd-cut leather pack and began to move items from the chest into it. Jymoor saw several interesting things as Yeel plundered the container. There were jewels, amulets, holy symbols and even a tiny metal facsimile of a bear with moving limbs. Yeel produced a short sword and handed it to Avorn.
Jymoor watched the knight as he regarded his weapon. Holding the sword transformed him with a wave of confidence or purpose. The man’s shoulders squared and his jaw set in newfound determination.
“I must retrieve my armor,” Avorn announced and tromped back into the other room.
“Faverhind’s hold over him is weakening,” Yeel whispered to Jymoor. “H
e’s been a servant for too long, but I sense he will return to a role of leadership soon.”
Jymoor nodded, glad to hear Yeel’s analysis. The wizard continued to examine the booty from Faverhind’s chest. Every third or fourth item would be dropped into his pack. As Jymoor watched, Yeel took out a black figurine and turned it in his hands, smiling to himself and secreting it away.
“Surely the tiny carving is worth less than that gold dragon,” Jymoor said, pointing at a larger piece that Yeel had rejected.
“You can carry the dragon back if you want,” Yeel said. “But it’s heavy, and I already have enough of that element to suit my needs. The obsidian icon, however, holds special power.”
Jymoor nodded, accepting this analysis without question. Yeel possessed so much wisdom that she hung on the wizard’s every word and tried to absorb the knowledge as best she could. The man was amazing in so many ways, she thought.
Soon Avorn reentered the room, clad in his unique armor. Jymoor noticed that the man seemed more powerful in this garb, taller and more imposing. Now he looked like a hero, a huge change from the broken man she had seen earlier.
“Very well, now we’re ready to travel to your homeland,” Yeel said.
Jymoor nodded. She took one last look at the amazing chamber, her gaze sweeping over the stacks of treasure. She considered it with the eye of a storyteller who must describe the scene at a later time.
“Follow me,” the Crescent Knight said. He stomped out. Jymoor shrugged and followed, allowing Yeel to take up the rear. She squinted her eyes as they left the underground domicile and started to march up the narrow track.
They moved for a few minutes in silence, making their way back up the cliffside and to the edge of the forest. They passed the first trees and then found a twisty game trail that led farther from the ocean. Yeel seemed to make an enormous amount of noise behind her, yet when Jymoor turned to see what caused it she saw nothing unusual but the wizard standing innocently.
The House of Yeel Page 4